


Pewter Owl: The 87th Hunger Games

by TintinnabulousRunes



Series: Tokens and Praises [1]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Forced Prostitution, Gen, Implied Sexual Content, POV Alternating, POV First Person, The Rebellion Failed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-24
Updated: 2016-06-04
Packaged: 2018-05-22 21:44:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 26
Words: 74,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6095032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TintinnabulousRunes/pseuds/TintinnabulousRunes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There had been talk of rebellion, something about Mockingjays and coins. That talk is all over now. Ladies and gentlemen, get ready to place your bets. The 87th Hunger Games are about to begin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Lynn Rayna**  
**District 4**

Something strikes me in the ribs. Not this again. Another blow, from the opposite side this time. Great, both of them are at it. I keep my breathing steady and remain still. Maybe if they don't get any reaction, they'll get bored and stop hitting me with pillows.

My hammock sways with additional weight. Something heavy settles onto my chest and I can feel an elbow digging into my side.

"Lynn, wake up." Kit whispers in my ear.

Time for a new tactic. I crack one eye open. Kit sits on my chest. She seems to be completely unaware of any discomfort she is causing me and simply says, "Hi."

I suppress a sigh of irritation and reply, "Hi."

Kit remains seated on my chest. She's nine and should have a far better concept of personal space and boundaries by now. I shift a bit and Kit giggles, splaying herself across me. Dorian clambers onto the hammock as well and sits on my legs.

"Could you get off me, please?" I say in my calmest voice.

Dorian bounces on my legs and proclaims, "No."

That actually hurts and I do not need any bruises right now. "Dorian, Kit, get off me. This is not funny."

Dorian bounces on my legs again and Kit keeps giggling, clinging to me now. Part of me thinks it might be because they realize I'm leaving today, that I'm going to volunteer at the Reaping. They are being clingy and annoying because they will miss me. But then again, they do this all the time, so I doubt that.

There is no winning with them since playing makes them win automatically. Time to stop playing then. I sit up, sending Kit rolling into Dorian, knocking him over.

"Off, now." I've run out of patience and a growl of anger seeps into my voice.

The twins scramble off me and run out of my room. They'll be going straight to our parents and say that I'm being mean to them. They'll leave out all the details that justify being mean to them. I start putting everything back in order, returning cushions and pillows back to their proper places from wherever the twins took them. A restless energy starts building in my gut. This week of inactivity is unnatural to me. Either I’m training, spear hunting, or hauling in nets. No moment is still and this menial task is doing little to burn off the energy I have.

Nervousness has a lot to do with it. Today is Reaping Day. Today, I will volunteer as the female tribute for District 4 in the 87th Hunger Games. At 17, I could wait another year, but there isn't anyone to really take my place. Susan is good, but she's 16 and we'll need her for next year. Naomi would be my backup except that she broke her ankle last month and the joint is now fragile and a liability. There's a couple girls from the outer villages that might try to volunteer, but I'm sure I can beat them in a footrace to the Reaping Bowl if it comes down to that. It is better that I die a good death after a fair fight than them getting slaughtered.

Fewer and fewer people are training. District 4 is a Career District out of habit and a touch of desperation more than desire or passion or whatever motivates Districts 1 and 2. The 75th games left a wound that is taking a long time to heal. Especially with how often they replay that final moment when Finnick had his throat torn out. I was 5 when it happened and don't really remember it all that well, except how sad everyone was.

There's a brief rap on my door and my mother steps in being invited or even acknowledged.

"What did you say to them?" She's mad and I have trouble caring.

"They were sitting on top of me so I told them to get off. That's all." I answer, a bit too tersely for my own good.

My mother purses her lips. I turn my back on her, continuing to straighten things up in the twins’ destructive wake. She asks, "Why do we have to fight now, of all times?"

She sounds strained. I shrug, "Why not? Things never change around here."

I hate this stupid little house boat and just want to be over at the training center with my friends. I want to have my last meal in District 4 with them, not with my family. Luke gave my no choice in the matter, saying in the arena he regretted not spending his last week with his family. I trust his judgment and have forced myself to remain here.

The muffled sounds of the twins shrieking something breaks the silence. All it does is prove me right. My mother backs down and says tersely, "Breakfast is ready."

There are still things to be fixed. Normally, I’d just do it later, but I’ll be in the Capitol so can’t. My parents can deal with the twins’ destruction this time. I follow her to the little kitchen and we have breakfast with my father. The twins have already come and gone, based on the jamy hand prints on the table. Breakfast is fresh bread with strawberry jam and butter. The food is good and the silence is tense. A rather typical morning on the boat. The familiarity has a strange, depressing kind of comfort to it.

I wash the dishes to give my hands something to do. Normally I would be training right now, running up and down the beach or climbing up the low cliffs that line the shore. After the volunteers were chosen last week, Devon and I were allowed (forced) to go back home to spend some time with our families. I think that’s when it really sunk in with my parents. They’ve supported me the whole time but I don’t think they ever really considered me actually volunteering, assuming someone else would be better than me and go instead. I'm sure the money that the Polis Program gives to the families of trainees also has something to do with their rare encouragement.

This whole thing is a bit awkward for me. I love my family. But only because I am supposed to. I don't particularly like any of them as people. If they were not family, I would have nothing to do with them. Even as family I still have as little to do with them as possible. My mother is obsessed with reputation and I'm rather certain she only loves me because it is good to have a career in the family, especially since she dropped out of training. My father just goes along with whatever she says and tries to get me to do the same. The twins are brats.

Being distant is good for everyone. They won't be so sad if I die. When I die, to be more realistic. It has been nine years since District 4 last had a Victor.

My parents don't push it. They never have. With me, they've always been largely hands off. I did the math, I know I'm an accident. My mother would have been around three months pregnant with me at her final Reaping. My parents used to argue about it when they thought I couldn't hear them. They got stuck together.

Then Kit and Dorian were born, and had been planned. They are such a handful that when I did need attention, there was never enough to spare. I've had training and my friends to fall back to for the most part and I've turned out well enough to volunteer, which is all that matters in the end.

I look down at the clock on the windowsill. My heart rate spikes as I do the math and realize there are only two and a half hours until the reaping.

But now I have something to do at least. I wash my hair and scrub the sand and grit out from under my nails. I need to look presentable to the Capitol. Strong, swift, deadly, brave. I have to look like they expect a career to look. I brush and dry my hair until it frames my face in smooth waves of light brown that I always wish would be blond instead. I will never be a beauty like the girls from District 1.

I remove my dress from its box and smooth out the fabric. It is light and flowing and should look nice on me. The pale aqua, my favorite color, stands out nicely against the deep tan and freckles of my skin. I tie it at the waist with a rope belt. It shows off my legs. I can pick out the dozens of little, pale scars that crisscross my flesh from jagged rocks and fish hooks and not quite dull training weapons. The semi-circle bite I got from a shark pup stands out the clearest and has a good story behind it. I'm still proud of that catch. I got the pup alive for some weird Capitol woman that had been staying at the resort.

There's a little mirror in my room. I look at myself in it as best I can. I'm pretty. I think. What are the trends in the Capitol right now? I don't know if I fit into any of them. Last year’s Victor, Midas, is all the rage right now. I know I’m not beautiful like he is.

There's a rap on the door and it opens without permission, as always. At least there was a knock this time. My mother stands there, dressed in her Reaping clothes. Her dress is dark green and long and she's owned it forever, as far as I know.

She looks me up and down. She smiles and it doesn’t reach her eyes. Sad and proud at the same time. "You look beautiful, sweetheart."

The words hurt. They are not false or cruel but they hurt. My mother does love me, in her own way, and I don't love her back. It is wrong but justified and too painful to dwell on. My imminent volunteering is more important.

We do not desperately need the Victor stipend. We could survive without it with little difficulty. Honestly, we'd be better off with me alive and helping out than dead in the arena. So my motivations for volunteering are selfish.

I decided to be a career when Luke Seymour won the 77th Hunger Games and everyone in the District stopped being so sad. We had little parties on the wharfs every Parcel Day and even if everyone still missed Mags and Finnick, and felt sorry for poor Annie, there were smiles and laughter guaranteed once a month. I want that to happen again and to be because of me.

I pull on my tan training boots. They are sleeker looking than my work boots and are not stained with fish guts. With that, it is time to go. 

* * *

**Luke Seymour**  
**District 4**  
**Victor of the 77th Hunger Games**

The bell jingles above me as I enter the sweet shop. Elly looks up and smiles at the sight of me. I can feel a smile light up my own face. I swear she gets lovelier every time I see her.

I walk up to the counter and lean against it. She does the same, mirroring my stance. There’s a playful smile dancing across her lips. "Well, now, what brings you here?"

"See, I want to get my wife a present, but honestly I’m horrible at picking out gifts."

"She know that." She laughs at me, because this has been a running joke since I got her socks one Thesmophoria. "I think all she needs is a kiss."

She brushes her lips against mine and then ducks back to circle around the counter so I can give her a proper kiss. 

We both try not to put too much desperation into the kiss. I'll be gone for a month, maybe a bit more, but then I'll be coming home again. But every time I go to the Capitol, there's a few more demons clinging to me when I get back. Elly always manages to banish them. She's bronze haired and storm eyed and the kindest soul I've ever had the honor of knowing.

I break away from the kiss and smile down at Elly. She smiles back up at me and says, "I'll call after the chariots."

I nod. "If there's ever some down time, I'll call the house."

Elly's smile turns a little sad. "I'll see you in a month."

There's never good-byes between us. Only a promise to see each other again. The same promises we made before I volunteered for the 77th Games. It worked then and continues to work now. I hug her tighter. "I'll see you in a month."

I plant a kiss on her forehead and release her. She smiles up at me, still a little sad, and returns to her place behind the counter. I turn and exit the sweet shop out onto the square.

The square changes so much in the days leading up the Reaping. Market stalls are packed up and hidden away before the Capitol comes to install the checkpoints and bring in the Peacekeepers not used to turning their back on the occasional black market dealings. Most of the business is legitimate. Just not all. Looking out at the banners and stage, I can hardly recognize it. The Reaping is still an hour away but people are beginning to trickle in.

I see a group from Gulf Port, black haired and ruddy skinned, looking like they could have come from District 10 just as easily. They lost the initial lottery, now required to make an appearance at the Main Port Reaping instead of gathering at one of the smaller stages at home. Their children will be safe though. There's two volunteers this year. Clara is trying to convince a few of them of that, though I'm not sure how well it works as she was Reaped and no one volunteered for her. She did return a Victor.

I see some of Neith’s extended family, down here from North Point.

I weave my way through the crowd to the stage. Mayor Bracken is already there, nervously adjusting his suit. He's been the mayor for nine years and is still nervous when it comes to public speaking. Really picked the wrong job for someone with social anxiety. I take my seat and continue to watch the crowd trickling into the square.

There’s movement out of the corner of my eye, off to my left, and I tense before forcing myself to relax again when I see that it is Emily leading Annie up the steps. Ten years since my games and the arena still hasn’t left me. I doubt it ever will. I stand and go to help. Annie is walking largely on her own, only leaning on Emily for support up the steps, which means she’s having a rare good day. Most days she gets lost and disorientated, unable to tell where she is or even who we are when it’s at its worst. We all settle into our chairs. Being the most recent Victor, I’m sat closest to Mayor Bracken with Annie to my left and Emily seated next to her. Xanthos arrives, his cane and prosthetic leg thunking hollowly on the wooden stage. Neith manages to get away from her collection of aunts and uncles and cousins and takes her place between Emily and Clara.

Mina and Boral, despite being in their seventies, race each other to the stage. They slide into their seats, Mina furthest from me. She’s the oldest of us left. Albatross died five years ago, we lost Mags to the Quell, and Mako died long before I was even born.

Clara is the last of us to make it to the stage, taking her place between Xanthos and Neith.

There should be ten of us up here. But because of the Quarter Quell, there is only eight. I've never gotten the full answer as to what went wrong. There had been plans and promises. Things fell apart when Peeta died and Katniss fled the alliance. After that, I've only been able to pick up traces of what happened. Plutarch Heavensbee, the Head Gamemaker, had been executed. Several stylists, prep team members, and escorts also disappeared, their actual alliances or unfortunate associations no doubt discovered by the Capitol.

The crowd begins to fill in more as the screens behind us flicker to life, displaying the seal of Panem. Irene Pearl, our District escort, arrives. She's wearing a pale gold dress with a sheer silver shawl and her platinum blonde wig bounces as she moves. It's funny how often wealth gets mistaken for taste. She chatters away at Mayor Bracken who nods politely at her comments.

There is a ripple in the crowd and I can see Lynn and her family arriving in the square. The aqua dress she's wearing suits her. She'll look good for the cameras when she volunteers.


	2. Chapter 2

**Lynn Rayna**  
**District 4**

We all head down to the main square. Some of the families that pass us know who I am and what I'm going to do. They wish me luck and for the odds to be in my favor and a few even whisper quiet prayers to the olds gods in my name.

This is dangerous for them to do out here, where the Capitol might be listening, but I appreciate it the most. I am skeptical at best when it comes to the stories of the Titans and Olympians and the Heroes that get told out at sea where we are only monitored by fuel level and catch weight. It is still traditional for a career to choose a god as their patron. I chose grey-eyed Athena, goddess of wisdom and patron of clever Odysseus.

The twins are more subdued now. They can pick up on the slight tinge of worry in the air. Last year a girl from Gulf Port volunteered, and her death was gruesome.

The Polis Program has done its job this year and produced a pair of proper careers. Devon and I will do well. Even better if everything goes according to plan.

I check in. As I pass some of the other careers, those still training and those that did not qualify. They nod and clap me on the shoulder as I pass by. Some of the others from Otter Polis like me wish me luck and that the odds will be ever in my favor.

I go find my friends Jessie and Min in the crowd of seventeen year old girls. It is not difficult to spot Min. Her hair is a bright copper red and her skin is practically solid freckles rather than tanned. There must be District 5 somewhere back in her bloodline.

Jessie is like me, solid District 4 as far back as anyone can remember, with skin that tans readily and light hair that just gets lighter under the sun.

Even though Jessie and Min aren’t careers, we’re still best friends. Jessie’s dad is friends with my parents and our boats often to out together or we’ll be together on the largest ships. Min’s parents own the candy shop and she sneaks us saltwater taffy all the time.

Jessie spots me and wraps me in a rib crushing hug. She’s stronger than I am. I tried to talk her into training but she always refused. She just doesn’t have the right disposition for it, even if her family could use the money more than mine.

Her voice is an overjoyed whisper, "You look so cute like this!"

Min helps free me and adds, "The dress suits you."

I smile at them both and say, "Thanks." With a heavily implied "for freeing me" directed at Min.

I can feel my palms begin to sweat by the time our district escort, Irene Pearl, draws a name out of the Reaping Ball for the female tributes.

I ignore the name, it doesn’t matter. She will live another year. Irene asks for volunteers.

Here it goes. "I volunteer as tribute!"

There are two other voices that echo mine. Outer village girls, not Main Port. But I’m faster and my voice rings out clearer, so I am the one selected.

Jessie and Min squeeze my hands before I leave. They’ll still get to see me when we say our goodbyes, but this feels even more final than that.

I ascend the steps of the stage. Irene asks me for my name.

"Lynn Rayna."

I am now a tribute. I hold my head high and try to keep my stance confident and relaxed.

Irene draws a name from the male’s Reaping Ball. I recognize this one. Laertes Argos, my thirteen year old cousin. Irene calls for volunteers again.

The voice that rises above the others is the wrong one. I can’t hear Devon’s voice. He backed out. He backed out and didn’t tell me. He didn’t warn me I’d be going into the arena with someone else. Rotten coward. I keep my face still. No one can see any concern or worry or doubt on my face.

I find Devon in the crowd with the other eighteen year old boys. A couple of the boys next to him are runners up. Devon is already clutching his side where someone has most likely elbowed him. Things are not going to be pretty for him. If no one stepped up, then Laertes would have been sent into the arena with me. I would have been forced to choose between aiding my cousin and surviving myself. It is a choice no one should have to make.

Rage coils in my guts. Now I really want to kill Devon, and I don’t have the chance anymore.

Ajax ascends the steps of the stage. He wasn’t even in consideration for the final picks. At the very least he does strike an impressive figure with his tall, broad shouldered build. He stands next to me on the stage. Towers over me to be more accurate. He is around six inches taller than me and easily twice my weight. I start going over strengths and weaknesses. He lost two out of three of the qualifying matches. He only made it to final twelve in the mock arena.

He is strong but has poor balance. Tall so he has good reach but his aim is poor. Bad vision, he can't see well at a distance. I did lose more hand to hand combat matches with him than I won. I go through every interaction I’ve had with him and every training match I’ve seen him in. He is what I have to work with now, whether I like it or not. He’s not a total loss but not what I expected.

He smiles at Irene, "Ajax Galleon."

Irene turns to the crowd, beaming. "Ladies and gentlemen, I give you your tributes for this year’s Hunger Games, Lynn Rayna and Ajax Galleon." 

We shake hands. I try to keep my expression pleasant. He’s my ally now. No sense in being hostile, particularly when this is being streamed live to the Capitol.

Peacekeepers surround us and escort us off to the Justice Building.

The building is ridiculously overdone. There’s gold and pearls and marble everywhere. The couch and chairs all have velvet cushions. I get to ride in an elevator for the first time. The stops and starts make me light headed, or that could just be the nerves again.

Kit and Dorian burst into the room, crying. They cling to me. They don’t want me to leave. 

I hug them and try to soothe them. "Hey, it’s okay. I’m coming home. I’m going to win. We’ll get to live in a big house in the Victor’s Village."

This does nothing to console them. Dad coaxes them off me so I can have some room to breathe. I’m trying not to cry. I am a career. I don't cry. This is what I chose to do. My parents have tears in their eyes. We know there is a good chance I’m not coming home. The odds are in my favor, but they’re still only odds, not a guarantee.

I hug my mom tight. She strokes my hair and I feel like I’m a little kid again (before the twins were born). We don’t say anything. I let her go and hug my dad. He holds me tight, and then leans back and holds me out at arms’ length. He smiles at me and says, "You’re going to win this. I know you will. They won’t be able to lay a finger on you."

They don't know that. They never saw me train. He's not wrong, but he has no way to know that.

I have to focus on something else or else I'll get angry instead of being sad so I tell the twins all of my favorite hunting spots. Where I’ve found sharks laying their eggs. Which tidal pools can sometimes have starfish or sea urchins in them.

A Peacekeeper steps in and signals our time is up. Well, we managed to not argue the whole time. That must count for something.

I give everyone one last hug before they’re removed from the room. I squeeze my eye shuts, willing myself to not cry. There can be no tears. There will still be cameras at the train station. It is not that difficult to do.

More visitors come. It’s Jessie, and her thirteen year old sister Sorrel, and their dad. We sit in silence for a few moments before Sorrel says, "You’re going to win. I know you can and I know you will."

She says it with such confidence, such certainty, that I almost let myself believe her. I notice Jessie has something in her hand. I remove my bracelet, a mess of chain full of dangling baubles I've collected over the years, and hand it to her. Jessie fiddles with the bracelet, and when she hands it back, there's a small pewter charm in the shape of an owl now dangling next to the misshapen, fried-egg pearl that Dorian had given me last summer.

They all stand to leave and Jessie’s dad says in a low voice, "May grey eyes watch over you, Lynn Rayna."

He was the one that encouraged me to take Athena as my patron. I have a dangerous wit, according to him. I really hope he's right about that.

The Peacekeepers come and guide Jessie and her family away before leading Min into the room. The solemn air is replaced by laughter and saltwater taffy. We talk and trade stories and Min does an admirable job at fighting back her tears. Her older sister Eleonore is Luke’s wife. Maybe seeing things go well gives her hope or courage on my behalf.

Then my hour of good-byes is up and Min is escorted away. The Peacekeepers return and take me to the train platform. I smile and wave at the cameras that swarm around me before stepping into the train car with Ajax following behind me. Once everyone is inside and the cameras are forced to step back, the doors are closed the train lurches into motion.

Irene tells me I can do as I please as long as I’m ready for dinner in four hours. Lunch will be self-serve in the dining car. She shows me around my quarters. I get my own private car section. There’s a huge plush bed, a dresser filled with clothes, and a bathroom with a hot shower.

I take off the dress and carefully fold it before laying it on top of the dresser. I head into the bathroom and fiddle with the shower button until I find a setting that doesn’t freeze or scald me. We have a cold shower on the boat but there’s barely enough time to scrub your hair before having to refill it. At training we could have warm showers but rarely wanted to waste our precious funds on oil to fuel the heater. I can stand under the hot water for as long as I like here. With the water streaming down my face, I cannot feel the difference between it and the tears.

With no one watching me, I don’t have to be brave right now. I might die. In fact, probability states that I will die. I’ve known that all along but now I am actually on the train heading to the Capitol and it finally feels real. I will be in the games. I might never see my friends or family again. They might see me die on live television. They will certainly see me kill. I’m not going down without a fight.

A weird kind of peace comes with the finality of it all. No turning back now. I’m on the train headed to the Capitol. In around a week, I’ll be in the arena. I can do nothing to change this. All that is left to do is go through the Capitol’s ridiculous pageantry then start killing people. I can do that.

I wash my hair with a shampoo that smell like lemon grass and lavender and calm myself back down so I will once again be presentable. I dry myself off with an impossibly fluffy white towel and place my hand on a panel on the wall. An electric current races through me, making all my hair stand on end. When I take my hand off the panel, my hair falls neatly down to frame my face, completely dry. I look at myself in the mirror. I straighten my shoulders and hold my head high. Looking like this, with a short, warrior’s haircut and a confident stance, I can picture myself with a trident in one hand and a net in the other. I don’t dare picture myself in the Victor’s crown. Hubris like that is bad luck.

I rummage around in the dresser until I find something decent to wear. Most of the tops are too sheer so I layer one of the sheer purple tops over a slightly more opaque dark blue tank top. It looks dumb but not quite as bad as most Capitol clothing, like Irene's ridiculous metallic getup. The pants are a plain black and a bit on the tight side. The layers must be the trend in the Capitol. The pants always look tight so I’m guessing that’s just how things are done. There's no reason for having a range of movement when you don't have any work to do. I go barefoot rather than pulling my boots back on.

I’m hungry and dinner is still over three hours away so I go exploring. The corridors that connect the train cars rock and sway like a ship out at sea. I keep my step light but firm. The dining car is a few cars down. I find Ajax sitting at a table staring out a bank of windows. I remain standing but do admire the view. The sea is just a shimmer on the horizon, quickly fading away as we turn to the Rocky Mountains where the Capitol lies.

We are both silent until the sea disappears. I sit down across from Ajax. He continues to stare out the window. I grab a roll and take a bite. It is strange to have bread that doesn’t have even a little seaweed in it.

The muffled sound of swearing and shouting comes from somewhere further down the train. It gets closer and Ajax pales. Emily bursts into the train car, Luke on her heels. I sit quietly and am grateful for the fact Emily's rage is not directed at me.

Emily is Devon's mentor, he's from Barracuda Polis. Ajax is from Crab Polis, which makes Neith his mentor. This causes problems from the start since he does not have his actual mentor here with him, the one that knows his strategy and all of his strengths and weakness and how to sell him to sponsors.

Emily is loud angry, which is better than quiet angry. A small consolation. She practically shouts, "What happened?"

Ajax does not meet her eyes. "This was my last chance."

Emily replies through clenched teeth. "It was Devon’s last chance too. He was supposed to be here. Not you. What happened?"

It takes a lot of willpower to not shrink away from Emily, even though she's not mad at me. Ajax does shrink back a bit and that's a bad sign. Emily isn't even an opponent and he's backing away from her. He mumbles as he explains and cannot meet Emily's gaze. "You know how he feels about Lynn. He tried to talk her out of volunteering. When she didn't back down, he did. Jason or Hyacinth will volunteer next year, so that made me the best choice for this year."

Not this again. Devon's feelings for me. He has been "in love" with me for the past seven years. At this point, I think it is just an obsession, not real love. Even if it is real love, I still don’t care. I can’t stand him most of the time. He’s an insufferable prick with Aphrodite as his patron. Seriously, he chose her for his patron. Who ever heard of a career, let alone a Victor, with the goddess of love as their patron? Okay, maybe Peeta Mellark, but he died in the Quell a year after his victory so I'm not sure if he counts.

I’ve turned Devon down at least half a dozen times, if not more. I lost track after he tied love notes to all of my javelins. He is stubborn, I’ll give him that. I figured that if he really does love me as much as he says does, he’d want to volunteer with me so he could protect me. We could even try to play up the star-crossed bit to get some sponsors. Admittedly, part of my strategy relied on that. So that part of the plan won’t work now.

Emily storms off in a huff. Ajax’s logic is rather sound. It would have been better if he has told us about everything. Or even better, Devon should have told us that he was a rotten coward.

Luke looks down at Ajax. It is one of those "I’m not angry, I’m just disappointed" looks and Ajax averts his eyes. Luke sounds tired. "Look, go to Emily, apologize profusely. Then, make sure that you know to the code being used and the agreed upon plan."

Ajax does as he is instructed. Luke takes his seat across from me. My mentor gives me a comically exaggerated smile. "Well, this has been fun."

I nod in agreement. Luke turns more serious and asks, "Thoughts?"

I lean back in the cushy seat and fold my arms across my chest. "I was really hoping to use Devon’s obsession against him. That, and he knew the plan and his role. I don’t know if Ajax can do it. Or will do it."

We have a lunch of strange fruits and cheeses on rolls. I can’t tell most of what it is, though Luke points out a few things he recognizes. Luke insists on going over the gift code again. It is normally cheaper to send small sponsor gifts rather than notes into the arena. Each mentor tends to come up with their own code, which gets personalized slightly based on the tribute. It helps make it less obvious to other tributes and mentors as well.

"One cracker."

"Stop whatever I’m doing. If it’s square, that means to leave the area. If it’s round, I can stay but should hide."

I’ve never understood the need for different shaped crackers. But they prove useful for the code so I would never object to them.

"Piece of jerky."

"The pack is nearby. Beef, run. Fish, fight."

"And if I send you a match?"

I smile because I almost want to receive this signal. "Start the plan early."

"Good." Luke stands. "I’m going to go speak with Emily. Try the star fruit, it’s good."

Luke exits the car and I turn back to the spread of fruit and cheese. I just nibble on a roll.

Some time later, Irene fetches me for dinner. Everyone else is already there. Things are tense. Emily does not seem quite as furious now. A bit miffed, but not dangerously so.

I can smell food so I focus on that rather than the awkwardness.

Dinner comes in elaborate courses. Chilled green soup followed by a peppery salad with salty cheese. Roast duck stuffed with nuts and dried fruit, served in plum sauce. Tuna crusted with seeds and lightly seared, leaving the middle deep red. A plate of exotic fruit and a wide variety of cheeses, some of them the same as lunch. Dessert is chocolate cake with layers of strawberry jam and sweetened cream cheese.

When dinner is over, Irene pushes a button and a screen lowers down. The reaping recap begins. This will be my first time seeing the other tributes.

District 1 looks beautiful and deadly as always. Silk, the girl, is slim and delicate. I’m pretty sure she’s the third Silk I can recall from District 1. Must be a common name there. She may be smaller than I am. I could beat her if it came to hand to hand combat. She’ll be a ranged fighter then. Throwing knives, maybe bow and arrows. Tux, the boy, is well built but not as broad as Ajax is. He'll probably use the thin bladed swords or sabres that are popular with the District 1 tributes. I would have to get him at a distance. A javelin would be preferable, a spear if necessary. Net and trident would be best, but then again it always is.

District 2 is more deadly and less beautiful with two volunteers as well. Eris, the girl, is solid muscle and her nose looks crooked, like it’s been broken one too many times. There is something kind of familiar about her but I can’t tell what. She could snap my neck with no problem. My best strategy would be to kill her in her sleep to avoid any risk of letting her get her hands on me. Or I could just send Ajax after her. That actually would be the best, two fish on the same hook and such. Cassius, the boy, looks like an eel, greasy haired and pinch faced. I can skewer him easily. Still, he's a volunteer from 2 and can't be completely discounted as a threat.

District 3 proves to be interesting. The girl looks frightened, but is putting on a brave face. The boy is twelve and cries the whole way up to the stage. No one volunteers for him. The two of them share the same last name. I feel bad for them. And for their family. They won’t last.

It turns out the girl that got Reaped from home was Izzy Florentine. She is fifteen, but really smart so we had the same history class together. There rare time I actually went to class that is. Training took priority so I only showed up enough to satisfy the most basic of Capitol requirements. I look confident walking up to the stage. Hopefully I’m pretty enough to attract some sponsors. Ajax, especially when compared to me and Irene, looks huge. He is nearly twice as wide as I am. That might be his saving grace. He looks like a real competitor, even if that is not quite the case.

From District 5, there are no volunteers of course. Dove, the girl, walks with confidence. Her dress is simple but lovely, her brown hair in a practical bob not that unlike mine, though a bit longer. She smiles at the camera. Emily comments, "She’s not scared."

And I agree, she’s not frightened by this.

None of the other tributes really stand out until a boy from District 8 volunteers. He doesn’t even have the same last name as the one that got reaped, nor do they even look all that similar, so I don’t think they’re even related. I wonder if he is a glory hound or just has a death wish and wants to save one life before he goes.

District 12 has a twelve year old as well, the girl. She doesn’t cry and holds her head as high as any career. May Persephone grant her a swift and painless death.

When the recaps are over, Emily turns to Ajax and me. "Go on and get some rest. We’ll discuss strategy after the chariots."

I do not object. The day has been trying.

It is strange not sleeping in a hammock. Even at training I’d avoid the cots most of the time and set up a hammock in a corner. I just nestle myself in a pile of pillows and drift off with the swaying of the train.


	3. Chapter 3

**Lynn Rayna**  
**District 4, Female Tribute**

I feel like a descaled fish. Another strip of wax removes another swathe of hair from my arm. The Capitol has a thing against body hair. Because blood sport is perfectly fine but body hair is gross. This is ridiculous. And painful.

After I no longer have any body hair, I am scrubbed down with some kind of gritty soap to remove any sand or salt or dirt. The grit removes more skin than anything else. One of my prep team, Metella, calls it ex-foliation. The process removes dead skin and makes the new skin look healthier. Her skin is covered tattoos of swirling purple flowers with little lights implanted under the skin the illuminates the center of each one. I really don’t think she should be the highest authority of what makes someone look healthy.

They cover me in a powdery makeup from practically head to toe. They call this beauty base zero. I am officially not hideous by Capitol standards. Naked, powdered, and free of hair, I am a blank canvas. There is a robe off to the side, but I don’t bother with it. I’ll have to remove it again soon enough. The air is pleasantly cool and soothes my raw skin more than the lotions have.

The prep team putters around, keeping themselves busy until my stylist, Agrippa, arrives for the big consultation and reveal of my chariot outfit. My nails have been cleaned of all sand and buffed to a perfect shine but one of the prep team still worries over them. Apparently, I, "really should be taking better care of them." His name is Ambilus. His hair is pale aqua and his nails have been painted to match. I adore it.

Cecelia is the prep team member in charge of my hair. I find this rather funny because her head is shaved except for a strip of hair running down the center that is spiked up and dyed bright pink. She likes my haircut. I think hers is weird, but don’t say so.

Agrippa arrives. His signature spiked hair has been dyed teal this year. He smiles and greets me, "Hello, Lynn. Let’s have lunch and discuss your outfit."

I perk up immediately at the mention of food. I slide on the robe and follow Agrippa into another room. One of the walls is glass, showing a view of the Capitol with all its buildings the same chaotic mess of colors as the saltwater taffy in the sweet shop. There is a pair of plush, dark green chairs facing each other over a low table laden with our lunch.

Agrippa describes the dish to me. He enjoys cooking as well as designing. There’s quail roasted with rosemary, thyme, and garlic served over a bed of "keen-wa". It looks like tiny bits of fancy rice or barley. There’s garlic mashed potatoes and green beans on the side.

We make small talk. Meaning, Agrippa talks and I listen, nodding politely or making little hums of agreement when appropriate. I do genuinely compliment him on the previous designs I’ve seen from him. The parade outfits have been excellent. He manages to capture the ocean and fishing without making it a mockery like many of the previous stylists have done. No netting or mermaid tail dresses in sight. The interview outfits are always attractive but tasteful without the overuse of sheer fabrics that don’t really cover anything.

I eat three of the quails. Dessert arrives at the press of a button, causing it to rise from some slot below the table. It smells ambrosial. Half a dozen little chocolate cakes oozing with caramel sauce sit on a platter. I eat four, but Agrippa doesn’t seem to mind.

My appetite pleases him, actually. When I’m done he says, "Well, I hope you enjoy the clothes as much as the food."

He is nice. Not what I expected. Most of the Career District stylists come off as particularly snobbish. The ones for the other districts don’t even seem to view the tributes as human, just walking canvases. It is rare to see stylists that seem to see tributes as people and they don't seem to last very long. Some could be better behind the scenes. Agrippa seems to genuinely care, or he’s at least really good at pretending. I smile at him. "I’m sure I will."

He returns the smile. His teeth are too white, which is rather unnerving. His voice is still kind and counteracts his teeth. "Well, the biggest question is how do you feel about high heels? You won’t have to walk in them, just put them on before getting on the chariot. It’s mainly to offset the height different between you and Ajax."

Watching Irene walk around in high heels, I’m surprised she hasn’t broken her ankles yet. But my balance is good and if she can do it so can I. Not looking short is also an advantage. I nod. "I think my balance can handle it."

I get another too white smile from Agrippa. It reminds me of a shark but doesn’t have the same predatory quality. "Perfect."

We walk back to the staging area of the remake center. I watch my prep team work and relax. Being pampered is nice. Normally I have to keep track of anyone around me, out of habit as much as anything. But my prep team is so not threatening their presence hardly registers with me. Ambilus paints my nails and Cecelia does my hair. Agrippa guides me a short distance to a full-length mirror.

I stare at myself. I look amazing and not at all like myself. The dress is light turquoise with fringe on it in shades of darker turquoise mixed with white. Whenever I move it looks like sunlight reflecting on water. The dress is sleeveless and falls just below my knees, so it leaves a tasteful amount of skin exposed. A pearl covered headband holds my hair in place. My nails have been painted deep blue. The makeup is dramatic, with dark blue lips and matching eye shadow. 

I’m given four-inch heels to wear. I’m rather light, but those little sticks do not look like they can support my weight. I try them on. They hold my weight, but I still worry about breaking my ankles. Walking in the heels takes a few dozen steps to get used to. I like the extra height.

I join Ajax at the chariots. He is dressed in a pinstripe suit that matches the turquoise and white of my dress. There must be little lights embedded in the fabric because every time he moves, dancing highlights ripple across the suit. The cut of the jacket has made his shoulders seem even broader. It is strange to see him in anything other than training gear.

I examine the horses that will be pulling our chariot. They are gorgeous creatures, with golden coats and white manes. I’ve never seen a live horse before, just pictures in textbooks and from the clips of the tribute parade from past games. Their size is intimidating, but I cannot show any fear. A bowl of sugar cubes sits off to the side and I can see some of the horses straining to get at them. I go grab a handful and offer them to the horses. They take them with surprising delicacy. I decide that the horses have been my favorite Capitol citizens so far. They don’t judge and don’t wager on my life. They just let me feed them sugar cubes and pet their long necks.

The stylists all linger, some making last minute adjustments, others talking to the escorts and mentors that are present. Luke and Emily aren't around, nor are the other Career District mentors, already chatting with potential sponsors and trusting out stylists to know what they're doing back here.

Everyone sticks by their chariots. I give Tux a nod of acknowledgment when he looks in my direction, but do not go over to speak with him. Right now, it is the time to gauge our opponents. The girl from District 11 cleaned up well and makes her lackluster overalls look good, so she'll get some sponsors. I try to get a look at the boy from District 8 that volunteered, but his stylist is fussing over him and blocking my view.

The doors begin to rise and we are ushered onto the chariot.

District 1 exits. Their theme this year is emeralds. From what I see, Silk is particularly beautiful, her black hair cascading down her back, interwoven with strands of silver and tiny emerald beads. She is sure to grab the attention of sponsors.

Stylized armor for District 2 this year, looking as if it was carved from some dark grey stone. It manages to make Cassius look stronger, able to bear the weight. Eris is more intimidating now, seeing her in person, and watching the cruel smirk she wears as she watches all of the other tributes.

District 3 has light bulbs and copper wire. The boy still sniffles softly. I’m amazed he still has any tears left to cry.

Then we exit to the cheer of the crowds. I smile and wave and can hear some of them calling my name in addition to the names of the other careers. I try and keep them focused on me as much as I can; blowing kisses and catching a blue colored rose tossed my way, tucking it behind my ear.

I want them to know this face. I want them to love this face and not let it die in the arena. I need them to want me to be the one that lives. Bet on me.

We arrive in the city circle to the continued cheer of the crowds. I look to the President’s Mansion and see the balconies filled with the highest ranking citizens in the Capitol. I cannot hear them, but I hope at least one has mentioned my name. The rest of the chariots enter the circle.

I glance at the screens. The cameras are not focused our chariot as they should be. They’re lingering on the boy from District 8. His hair has been spiked and scales have been stenciled on his face with makeup. The stitching on his shirt has been textured to resemble a scaly hide. Textiles have been turned to venom and armor. His name fills the air. "Tweed! Tweed!"

There are people that love an underdog and they will all sponsor him. He has become the biggest threat in the arena without even picking up a weapon. I need to kill him at the first chance I get. I know where I’ll be aiming my javelins in the bloodbath.

President Ferrum steps out onto the balcony and I turn my focus on him. His black hair is streaked with hints of grey, but he holds himself tall and proud as ever. I cannot quite tell where his dark eyes are looking, but I think I see them rest on Tweed for a moment longer than the rest of us. He gives the official welcome and the chariots take a final lap around the circle before going into the training center.

I try and block out thoughts of Tweed. We have yet to see him fight. He might be a star now, but when it comes to training, he is sure to falter. There is no way someone from the textile manufacturing district can know how to fight.

Once Ajax and I step off the chariot, Emily and Luke usher us through the crowd. I don’t mind most crowds, normally because they are made up of people I know, but this chaotic press of strange bodies is alarming. We pile into the elevator along with the tributes from District 5 and their mentors, Elektra Allaway of the 67th Games and Michael Ampere of the 81st Games.

The parade outfits they have are white jumpsuits with shoulder pads shaped like windmill blades. I think that’s what they’re supposed to look like. Amidst the useless babbling from my prep team, I picked something up about how District 5 got new stylists this year.

Dove meets my eyes. We stare at each other as the elevator doors close and we’re carried upwards. I expect her to avert her eyes or at the very least look a bit nervous.

She shows no fear. She holds my gaze with her hazel eyes. She's studying me, the same way I've been studying the other tributes. I am at once impressed by Dove’s bravery and insulted by the fact she isn’t afraid of me. I'm a career, she should be afraid of me. Her partner is. At least he knows how to react.

The elevator stops at the fourth floor and the doors slide open. I flash Dove a quick smile before getting off. Through the glass door, I can see her return it. Emily certainly was right, she’s not scared. And she’s not scared for some reason. I want her as an ally.

Everything in our quarters is impossibly luxurious like I have come to expect from the Capitol. The carpets are so plush the high heels stop making such a difference in my height. Emily tells Ajax and me to go relax before dinner.

Irene shows me to my chambers. I free myself from the dress and shoes then lay them as neatly as possible on the bed. It takes a moment to untangle the rose from the headband, then both get tossed on top of the dress.

The shower has hundreds of buttons but I manage to make some sense of them. I let my mind wander as I am massaged by jets of warm water and orange scented suds.

This time, I don’t cry. Instead my head is filled with thoughts of the arena. The past four years’ arenas were, in order, a grassland, a forest with white water rapids running through it, a flower garden, and a desert oasis. I can safely say there won’t be any repeats of those kinds of arenas. But what kind of environments does that leave for this year? City ruins could be a possibility. No, manmade environments, even overgrown ruins, have a tendency of only coming up once a decade and the 81st covered the 80s. Very unlikely unless the new Head Gamemaker wants to make an impression by breaking the trend.

Maybe an evergreen forest. There hasn't been a water heavy arena in a while, no lagoons or island chains. I could get really lucky. I probably should have shown up to my biology classes more often. But in my defense, those classes were held early in the morning, which is the best time to go spear fishing. 

Really, the arena could be anything and the only indication I will get before seeing it will be what my tribute outfit is. If it’s a wet suit, I’m in luck, because that means plenty of water. The arena itself is completely beyond my control and I can't plan anything for it, only control my responses once I'm in there.

Planning on how to deal with the other tributes is something I can do. The career pack is a doubled edged sword that I do plan on taking advantage of. Since the 75th Games, District 2 and District 4 have not gotten along very well, not after Enobaria won. The past three years in a row, the melee has been the end for District 4. I don’t want to share their fates. Not being in the career pack would be foolish, so I came up with a plan.

Take advantage of the food, shelter, and weapons that being a career in the bloodbath gets you. Then three or four days in, take all I can carry, set fire to the Cornucopia, and run like Cerberus is on my heels. Running with someone is preferable. Ajax is with me on this. If Dove proves to have some useful skill, which I’m pretty sure she does, then maybe I can get her to join me too.

I dry myself off and go back to my room to find something to wear. I program the closet to suit my taste as close as possible, considering that the Capitol tends to be the exact opposite of practical or comfortable. I find a pale green blouse, a pair of cream pants, and a pair of brown leather sandals. I opt for flats out of the desire to not break my ankles on the plush carpet.

Food can be summoned from a menu at the push of a button. They have ice cream. I have a lot of fond memories of training in the summer, spear hunting for sharks and selling the fins and meat and teeth. Then we’d pool our money together and buy little cups of ice cream from the sweet shop or buy cookies and little cakes from the bakery to take back home with us.

I’ve eaten two bowls of chocolate chip ice cream with caramel sauce by the time Irene calls me for dinner. Somehow, I still find it within myself to be hungry.

Agrippa and Claudia, Ajax’s stylist, are at the table along with Luke. Irene fetches Ajax and seats him next to me. I feel small next to him. I hate it. He is my ally, and a friend I guess, but I still hate it. My lower center of gravity has proved useful and I sent him sprawling in training more than once, so that makes up for it to some degree.

Emily arrives last and I can tell she's still irritated. Luke rolls his eyes at her when he thinks she's not looking.

Silent young men and women dressed in white tunics bring out the food. They’re Avoxes. The Capitol has a resort near the northern west coast of District 4’s territory. Some of the boats, my family’s included, stop by for refueling on longer trips and to make fresh deliveries to the market there. Avoxes do most of the work, a silent fleet of servants to do the Capitol’s bidding. I always wonder what crimes they committed to get their tongues cut out like that.

Dinner is even better than lunch. Spicy tomato soup served with cheese biscuits. Salad with salty olives and sweet berries. Beef in a tangy sauce served over egg noodles. Shrimp from the Panem Gulf drenched in garlic butter. For dessert, layers of vanilla ice cream, strawberries, and white cake stacked on top of each other, served in a tall glass and topped with whipped cream.

We watch the chariot recaps after dinner. District 8 does make the biggest impression judging by the babble from the commentators. Other than the rest of the careers, Tweed will be my biggest competition, for sponsors if nothing else.

Once the recaps are over, Irene tries to send Ajax and me off to bed. Training starts tomorrow and we need to be well rested. I want to protest. I want to start planning now, like Emily said we would, but a yawn forces its way out of my throat. Luke spots this and chuckles. "Go on. We can talk strategy after training tomorrow. Give us your impression of the other tributes first."

I do as told. Even through Luke always appears to be kind and patient and understanding, unlike Emily, he does not like being argued with. Arguing with him results in having to run laps. I'm used to running laps.

I dress in a warm, fuzzy nightgown. The plush beds are already growing on me. I make a nest out of pillows and blankets and curl up. Despite my exhaustion, sleep doesn’t come easily. I waver back and forth in between being at peace with what is to come and absolute terror. Is Ajax doing the same thing? Is Tweed? Is Dove?

I start going over hypotheticals. I face down each of my fellow tributes. I go over killing them again and again, with trident, spear, javelin, and sword. I resort to knife and axe and mace. I use rocks and sharpened sticks. I poison them, burn them, and drown them. The morbid thoughts put me to sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

**Lynn Rayna**  
**District 4, Female Tribute**

Something rustles softly on the opposite side of the room. My heart starts racing. I try to remember where my nearest weapon is but I’m in bed in the training center, not the arena yet. That does not change the fact someone is in my room. I stay still and crack my eyes open. A brown haired, dusky skinned Avox girl sets some clothes on top of the dresser. She leaves and my heart stops racing quite so fast. She was just dropping off the clothes I’ll be wearing during training today.

I’m not even in the arena and my nerves are on edge. Still, I’d rather be paranoid than too relaxed.

I glance at the clock. It reads 8:04 AM. Training starts at 10. I roll myself out of bed. I stretch, popping my joints with satisfying cracks. I slip off the nightgown and go see what Agrippa has picked out for my training outfit. There is a pair of plain black pants, a light blue shirt, and a black jacket with silver stripes running down the sleeves.

I put on the clothes and the pair of black leather boots that are by the door. Then I follow my nose to the source of the scent of breakfast. Breakfast comes in the form of an elaborate spread of food on a table off to the side of the main dining table. Luke is already seated, eating hotcakes soaked in syrup.

An Avox stands at attention beside the spread but I serve myself. I pile my plate high with hotcakes, slices of orange melon, and three different kinds of sausage links. Not having any seafood available is weird. Normally I have kippers or smoked salmon with breakfast before training. Even the simple food tastes amazing here so I can forgive the lack of fish.

There is a part of me that only wants warm bread and strawberry jam. I push that part deep down in myself. I’ll have that again soon enough, back home in the Victor’s Village. There’s no point in missing home when I’ll be returning. Or I’ll be dead and it won’t matter.

Luke finishes a bite of hotcakes and asks, "So, exactly what is the thing with Devon?"

I take a sip of orange juice before answering. "You know the person that leaves notes for me everywhere? That’s Devon doing that. I figured after a punched him the face he’d cut it out, but apparently not."

Logically, punches to the face should be a sure sign of rejection. Devon is not logical.

I shrug and add. "At least I learned he was a coward now, instead of in the arena where it counts."

This earns a chuckle and a nod of agreement from Luke. We go back to our breakfasts. I hear a thunk of what sounds like someone falling on the floor. Luke snickers but does not say anything. I’m tempted to ask what is so funny. A few moments later, Emily walks into the room. Her black hair is done up in a messy bun and she beelines to the steaming pot of coffee at the end of the breakfast table. Luke grins at her, "Good morning, sunshine."

His voice is purposely honey sweet. Emily shoots him a withering glare for his efforts. I continue eating melon slices. From training, I’m rather used to this. Emily is not a morning person and she is not to be spoken to unless she speaks first or something really serious is going on. Serious meaning something is on fire or someone is bleeding profusely. Both have happened. Neither to me, though the fire had been partially my fault.

Ajax emerges from his room to join us. He piles his plate high with sausages and scrambled eggs then plops down next to me. The outfit he’s wearing has the same black pants as mine but the shirt is short sleeved. He doesn’t have a jacket so his heavily muscled arms stand out distinctly.

Once Emily has downed two cups of coffee, she begins to function a bit better. She looks back and forth between Ajax and me. "Alright. Today is your day to show off. Go for the gauntlets and ropes course. Then go for the weapons stations. It’s better to make alliances early so keep an eye out for who seems like they’ll be worth something."

I think Emily is done but then she faces me directly. The hair on the back of my neck stands up. I feel like prey under her direct gaze. "Now, Lynn. Are you going to go through with the plan of turning on the pack?" She sounds more concerned than angry.

I’ve mentioned my plan to her before. Luke has no doubt discussed it with her more extensively. She only warned me weigh the pros and cons. I give a definitive nod. "Yes."

Emily looks over to Ajax. "Then I’d recommend you head out with her when the time comes."

We all continue with our breakfasts. By the time it is 9 o’clock, I’m already ready to go. I pace around from my room to the sitting room and back again. Irene comes to get us ten minutes later. The glass walled elevator carries us below ground to the main focus of the training center, the gymnasium.

The gymnasium makes our re-purposed warehouse back at home look like nothing. The target dummies are all pristine and the weapons gleam. I spot the trident station and can’t wait to try them out.

District 1’s tributes got here before us. I walk over to where they stand. I give a little wave to catch their attention. "Hello."

They both turn to me. Tux extends a hand and introduces himself properly. "Hey, I’m Tux."

I take his hand and give it a firm shake. "Lynn."

We already know each other’s names but it doesn’t hurt to be friendly. Ajax comes up to us and introduces himself to Tux. Silk gives the three of us an aloof glance and says, "Silk. A pleasure." The sarcasm drips from her voice.

I’d debated doing the same as her, playing at being aloof and unconcerned, like everyone else is so beneath me. I decided that being friendly was the better option since I plan on betraying them later. If they think I’m actually friendly, they’ll dismiss me as a threat.

The tributes from District 2 arrive. There is something familiar about Eris. Her hair is tied back and I can see it, with her light brown skin and arching brows. I’d heard that Enobaria had a niece. This must be her. Eel-faced Cassius makes more sense now, they threw a weaker career in with her to improve her odds. Why do I have the feeling that’s going to backfire?

Eris proves to be boisterous in the most disturbing way possible. She’s like watching a caricature of a District 2 career, all bloodlust and animal cunning. She looks at the maces the same way I looked at the tridents before looking towards the trainers that are beginning to fill the space around their respective stations. Cassius is far too polite. In many respects, I think he will be one of the largest threats out of my fellow careers. We’re both appraising the other tributes as they trickle in pair by pair. We sneak glances at each other when we think the other is not looking. Even if we’re caught every time, neither of us acknowledges it. He might have a betrayal planned to rival mine.

Eventually all twenty-four tributes have arrived. Squares of fabric with our district numbers get pinned to the backs of our shirts and jackets. We gather in a tense semicircle around the head trainer. He speaks with a lazy kind of authority. He’s been over this speech before and knows the training here didn’t matter all that much. The training that mattered happened back in all the illegal gyms in the career districts.

We’re dismissed and I race Ajax to the gauntlets station. I make it there first, barely. His legs are longer than mine. One of the trainers starts the clock and I’m running again. I bound up the first platform and twist out of the way of a padded club swung by one of the trainers before jumping to the next platform as it rises. I leap over another swing and land on the next platform. My momentum keeps me going, twisting and jumping out of the way of the padded clubs as I make my way across the platforms. A few of the clubs clip my feet or graze against my arms but I don’t stop until I’ve hit the ground at the other end of the course.

It feels good to have my blood pumping. I go and wait by one of the columns for Ajax and Eris to make their runs. Ajax goes next. He takes a few rather solid hits from the padded clubs but brushes off the blows with ease. He makes good time, his long legs easily allowing for him to jump between the platforms. 

Really, it’s quite boring watching people run across moving platforms, so I turn my attention to the weapon stations. The boy from 7 is trying out the axes. The swings have power behind them, I’ll give him that. The control requires to take out a mobile opponent is lacking however. But any blow that landed would cause a lot of damage, crippling if not outright killing.

Silk takes up a set of the knives. Of the six knives, three get buried neatly in a cluster around the dummy’s heart, one sinks into the dummy’s neck, and the remaining two strike the dummy in the eyes. Show off.

I search around for Tweed amongst the weapon stations only to spot him at the rope station, tying a snare. That’s disappointing. I want to see him fight. If he can fight, I can invite him to the career pack and take care of him when I burn the Cornucopia.

Eris finishes with the gauntlet. She grins at me. "Want to show them how it’s done?"

I can’t help but return her vicious smile with one of my own. "Let’s."

Ajax heads over to the sword station where Tux already spars with one of the trainers. Eris practically skips over to the maces. I calmly make my way over to the tridents. The Capitol made tridents have a different balance than what I’m used to. The shafts are lightweight metal rods rather than solid wood. There’s additional weight at the butt of the shaft to counter the solid metal prongs. I don’t want to risk throwing any of them just yet and making a fool out of myself. I attack the dummy with zeal. I target the areas of soft tissue first, striking the gut and neck. The dummies do not simulate bone, which is unfortunate as I practice strikes to the heart and lungs, which need to be placed between the ribs to be effective.

Once the dummy has been perforated to my satisfaction, I replace the trident and pause to consider my other options. The spear throwing station is vacant. Odds are the spears and smaller javelins will most likely have the different balance like the trident did so I need to familiarize myself with them.

I grab a quarrel of three javelins. I draw one, test the weight and balance. Again, the haft is lightweight metal and the head is solid. But the balance is more like what I’m used to, even if overall the weapon is lighter.

I start at around ten paces back, get ready, bound a couple steps forward and throw. The javelin sinks into the dummy’s chest. Punctured lung. A solid kill. I throw the next one from a standstill and it hits the base of the throat right between the collar bones. I back up a few more paces, aim for the heart, and throw. The javelin lodges itself a bit below and to the right of where the heart would be. Possibly still puncturing a lung. I just can’t tell without having bone in the way. At home, some of the training dummies were made from plastic skeletons from biology class wrapped with chair stuffing and sail cloth. I liked using those best.

I dislodge the javelins and go back to my position seven paces away and throw again. I keep doing this until I can hit the heart or neck or eye at any range from twenty to four paces away from both a running and standing start. I switch to the longer spears. I have to do the same thing, throwing again and again until I can adjust to the difference in weight and balance.

I meet up with Ajax by the rope course. Silk is climbing across. I look back over to the weapons stations. Dove is at the sword fighting station. There is skill behind her moves. She finishes a set of strikes with her right hand then switches the blade to her left. She does the same set of strikes with even more precision.

Now I do understand why she has no fear. She is not some helpless tribute with no training. The real question is how she got training.

The Career Districts have deals with the Capitol to allow for training. We have the Polis Program, disguised as a system to promote healthy competition within the District, increasing cooperativity between ports and villages. District 2 has the Pax Program that trains future Peacekeepers. District 1 has an academy of some kind.

I walk over to her and watch as she nearly decapitates the dummy with a final stroke. I keep my tone neutral, "That’s a neat trick."

She jumps a bit at the sound of my voice. She blushes and stammers a bit before saying, "Oh. Thank you."

So compliments are the only thing that scares her. That’s a new one. I smile at her and ask, "Would you like to come join us for lunch? I’m Lynn, by the way."

I extend a hand towards her. She sets the sword to the side and steps forward. She hesitates before taking my hand. Her grip is firm despite the nerves, a good sign. "I’m Dove. And yes, I’d like to have lunch with you."

"Perfect." I release her hand and turn back to the rope course. "Bet I can beat you on the ropes."

"You can try."

We run over to the ropes course. She beats me to it and starts climbing up the vertical rope that leads up the tangle of nets that hangs above us. I compensate by jumping a third of the way up the rope and climbing as fast as I possibly can. I swing out into the nets and move hand over hand over hand. My shoulders burn with the effort. I can see Dove out of the corner of my eye, behind me but not by as far as I would expect for some kid from the energy district.

The end of the course is five feet away. Four feet and the rope that supports me starts to give. I swing myself forward as far as I can, grabbing for the next rope. I catch myself with the fingertips of my left hand and for a moment all of my weight is supported there. The sudden stop jerks my arm. Everything from my fingertips to my shoulder burns. My body continues to swing forward from my previous momentum and I lunge forward, catching myself more firmly with my right hand. I make my way over the remaining three feet and drop down to the padded floor below.

A few seconds later Dove lands beside me. My triumph temporarily overrules the pain in my shoulder. I smile at her. "Told you I’d win."

The bell for lunch rings. The pack claim the back corner of the room, shoving two tables together. Cassius appears. I can’t recall seeing him at any of the stations.

The seven of us all grab food from the carts. There’s grilled chicken and fresh fruit and different kinds of bread from each of the districts. I’ve missed seaweed and take two of the green tinted, fish shaped rolls. The rolls don't taste like Laver's. I think the Capitol used the wrong kind of seaweed for the recipe.

I seat myself between Ajax and Dove. We all joke around and bet about who is going to get what training score and who will go first in the bloodbath. Dove does not joke as easily as the rest of us, not with her District partner, Eddy, sitting on the opposite side of the room, alone, with an agreed upon score of 4.

After lunch it is back to weapons training. I spar with one of the trainers at the sword station. Both arms ache from the throwing stations practice and my left shoulder throbs dully from the jolt at the rope station. I disarm the trainer with a well-placed blow to her armored wrist with the flat of the blade. From off to my left, at the mace station, I hear a cry of pain. I look over and see the trainer clutching his arm and Eris starts laughing. She broke his arm with a training mace through the thick armor he wears. That takes a lot of strength along with skill to place the blow at a weak point in the armor.

The trainer gets taken away by a few medics dressed in white. Everything is quiet except for Eris’ laughing. I turn back to the trainer I was sparing with. She seems alarmed. Tributes don’t hurt trainers (Capitol citizens), ever, not to my knowledge. I try to make light of the situation, "I promise I won’t break your arm."

She smiles at me, a bit forced, and retrieves her practice blade. The dull metal blades won’t kill since they have no edge to them but could theoretically break bones if I hit hard enough. We meet again with a clash of metal on metal.

I spend the next hour at the sword station. The trainer is really helpful, pointing out flaws in my guard and my footwork. It comes from being used to fighting at a range and having the advantage of reach. I know I won’t always have that range in the arena, so this is potentially lifesaving information.

The rest of that day’s training passes uneventfully. I try throwing knives a bit. I have good enough aim and a decent amount of force, but prefer my javelins. The extra weight has a lot more stopping power.

At 6 o’clock training is over and we head back to our suites for dinner. I take the opportunity to take a long shower in an attempt to soothe some of the remaining ache in my left shoulder. I’ve dislocated it before, so I know that’s not the problem. And I tore a muscle in my calf once, so I know it can’t be an injury like that either. Something might have gotten pulled out of place from the sudden shock of all my weight being supported by just my left arm. If the soreness doesn’t go away by lunch tomorrow, I’ll have to get it checked out by the medics.

At dinner Emily and Luke ask us about what happened and who we want to ally with. Ajax and I agree on joining the pack and having Dove along as well.

That night I sleep easily, due to exhaustion as much as knowing how good my odds are after watching the other tributes struggle with even the most basic of weapons.

On the second day, things go similarly. I try throwing axes. It is a lot like throwing knives but have an impact a lot more like my javelins. I still have better range with the javelins but the axes are a good alternative if I have to use them.

Eris breaks the nose of the wrestling trainer with a head-butt. No one is safe from her league long vicious streak. I doubt this will work in her favor because the Gamemakers in their purple robes have been watching us from the balcony above and I saw them speaking with the trainers when we were returning from lunch. I will not be surprised if Eris gets caught in a Gamemaker trap or torn apart by mutts for her actions here. They can’t have a Victor with no regard for the Capitol and its citizens.

My left shoulder stopped aching, so I don’t worry about it anymore. But the rope breaking is still a puzzle. Especially when I find that Cassius always disappears periodically during training. I’ll catch the odd glimpse of him at the knives or swords stations. I’ve watched him run the gauntlet and do the rope course a few times. But then he’s gone when I check again.

I keep an eye out for similar accidents to the rope breaking on me. There's nothing quite so bold but things are not going smoothly at some stations. The twine disappears from the knot tying station. The brown paint is taken from camouflage. The disruptions are timed with Cassius' disappearances. That's his game then. Sabotage before we are even in the arena. I wonder how long the Gamemakers will let him keep it up.

The third day of training arrives. Our private sessions are this afternoon. I feel confident about my weapon skills. I have to consider my plan, however. Leaving the Cornucopia behind means that water, food, and shelter will no longer be so secure for me.

I learn different ways to make fire and master the edible plants station. I even learn a few of the snares that I saw Tweed making earlier. If there’s no large bodies of water for fishing or frogging, I might be able to catch some rabbits or squirrels or something with the snares. Or another tribute’s foot under any circumstances. The trainers seem surprised at my presence. Most careers don’t bother with survival skills. Emily mentioned she did, so it isn’t completely unheard of and shouldn’t rouse too much suspicion.


	5. Chapter 5

**Lynn Rayna**  
**District 4, Female Tribute**

After lunch, the private sessions start. Tux goes first, with Silk calling out after him, "Don’t drop your sword!"

No one talks much as we disappear one by one, just an odd whisper. Ajax is called up. I give him an encouraging clap on the shoulder as he stands. We do not actually wish each other good luck. We know our skills. After around fifteen minutes, my name is called.

The gymnasium seems larger than before, now that it is only the Gamemakers sitting on the balcony and me standing in the center. Some of them are tipsy but that has only put them in a better mood. I arm myself with a net and trident as well as a few javelins, slipping a knife into my jacket sleeve as well. I stand back around twenty paces and aim for one of the dummies. I take a couple of running steps forward and throw. The first javelin lodges in the heart. I move fluidly, unslinging another javelin and hitting a second dummy off to my left in the face. Another turn and the final javelin is lodged in the neck of the dummy that had been behind me only a moment before.

Still using my momentum, I cast the net at a nearby dummy, wrapping it around the base. I plunge the trident into the dummy’s chest. Pulling with the net and pushing with the trident, I send the three hundred pound dummy crashing to the ground.

Good aim, strength, and speed. I think I’ve displayed those traits well enough.

I pull the trident out of the dummy’s chest, pivot, and throw it at the closest archery target. The trident’s prongs strike the silhouette in the neck. I had only hoped to hit the target, so I’m more than pleased with the excellent throw. As far as the Gamemakers are concerned that was entirely on purpose. The Gamemakers are clapping and nodding in approval.

Sidestepping, I turn and plunge the hidden knife into the last untouched dummy. I also have tricks up my sleeves, let them see that too. The new Head Gamemaker, Priscilla Wolfshiem, nods once and says, "We have seen enough. You are dismissed."

Everything went perfectly. Better than expected. I even managed to knock over the dummy without any trouble. Hauling in nets with my father paid off.

I practically skip down the hall to the elevators. The elevator carries me up to the suite and I head over to the sitting room. I expect to see Ajax there but he is nowhere to be seen. Luke looks up from where he’s reading something on a screen of some sort. "How did it go?"

"Great!" My excitement brushes aside any confusion about Ajax’s absence. "Everything went perfectly. More than perfectly. I hit all the targets dead on and even managed to palm the knife."

He smiles. "That’s good news." He sounds relieved.

If I am good news, then there must have been bad news. My feelings are already conflicted. "What happened?"

Luke sighs and pats the cushion beside him. I take a seat and wait for him to speak. "Something must have gone wrong. Ajax has gone into his room and refuses to come out." He sounds conflicted, for I'm sure the same reasons I am.

Luke is my mentor. I'm his priority. But if I die before Ajax does, he'll be Ajax's mentor alongside Emily. Which means he does not want Ajax to do poorly.

This confirms that Ajax’s odds at winning are low. But he knew that coming here. Surely he did. I have no idea of what could have gone wrong. In training these past three days, he’s done very well. His odds aren’t the best, but they’re still really good, and I need him to be the one that goes home if I die.

I try to take my mind off of Ajax by asking, "Are there any special advantages to an alliance when it comes to things like sponsors?"

Luke considers the question. "Well, sponsors do tend to favor tributes that are in an alliance, particularly the pack, and they can give alliance donations that get split evenly amongst the tributes." He looks over at me, studying me closely. "Even if you split from the rest of the pack, you still need to keep at least Ajax with you until the final eight. What are your thoughts on Dove?"

Dove is good at sword fighting, somehow. She has decent endurance and a good head on her shoulders. But she’s kind. I saw her trying to talk with the boy from District 3. The kid even stopped crying for a few minutes after that. Under any other circumstances, I would have done the same. I can’t stand seeing the kid so terrified. But to be a Victor, you can’t be kind. Dove will not be a Victor which makes her a good ally to have.

"I want Dove in on the plan. She’s handy with a sword." I sit up straighter, my mind made up. "I’ll try to talk to Ajax. Is there a way we can meet up with Dove to discuss things?"

Luke stands and goes over to the phone by the door. He punches in a number and waits for a few moments. "Hello, Michael. Has Dove checked out the roof yet?" There is a pause while Michael replies. "Alright, you’re welcome."

He nods to me. I guess I’m meeting Dove on the roof.

I head over to Ajax’s room. Emily is at the door, rapping on it lightly. "Ajax, please come out. We can discuss this, it’s not over yet."

This coming from Emily is a minor miracle. She doesn’t do warm and fuzzy. Things are bad if she's doing warm and fuzzy. She notices my approach and steps to the side. "I don’t think you’re getting him out of there."

I consider how I should approach this. If he’s that upset might not even listen to me at all. I resort to pounding on the door a couple of time and saying, "Come on, get your lazy ass up, we need to go talk with Dove."

There is no reply for a few long moments then he opens the door a crack. "What do you want?"

I chose to act as if I am completely ignorant of the issue at hand. This matter does take precedence anyways. "For you to get up. We need to go talk to Dove. Come on, we’re meeting her on the roof."

His eyes widen in surprise. He probably expected me to yell at him for messing up or to say how bad I felt for him. He comes out of his room and follows me over to the elevator. I notice Emily staring at us in disbelief. I don’t really believe it either but avoiding the topic entirely can make things less awkward. It will most likely come back to bite me tonight when things can no longer be avoided, but for now it works and gives us something else to focus on.

We get into the glass elevator and it carries us upwards. I can see the adjacent one carrying Dove who spots us and waves. I wave back and nudge Ajax until he waves too. We step out onto the roof and find ourselves in a lush garden. We meander along the paths and make blatant small talk about how pretty everything is and how nice the wind chimes sound until we find a secluded bench near the far corner of the garden.

I sit down between Ajax and Dove and speak softly, letting the wind chimes obscure my voice. "I have a plan to avoid the melee. Assuming we all survive the bloodbath, which we all should, we stick with the pack for the first three days. This lets us get the supplies from the Cornucopia and survey parts of the arena with relative safety. After that, we gather all the supplies we can carry, burn the rest, and run."

Dove does not react with the enthusiasm that I had hoped for. I know the plan’s not fool-proof, but it is a good one. Her brows furrow and she bites her lower lip. "There’s a lot of risk in that plan. We could get caught gathering the supplies or when lighting the fire. They could catch up to us when we’re running. And after that we wouldn’t have a reliable shelter."

The points are valid concerns. So I counter as logically as I can. "Gathering supplies is the easiest. Even if we get caught, we just say we were planning on bringing it with us on a hunting trip so we can stay out the whole night. Something like that. Burning the supplies will be an issue, I admit that. That’s where I was hoping you’d have an idea."

This works. I make her part of the plan and she is no longer so opposed. Dove stops biting her lip and arches a brow instead of furrowing it. "Well, depending on the arena, there may be chemical or electrical fire starters. Even starting a small fire amongst some flammable supplies then leaving before the blaze really starts can buy us time. Anything fabric would work, blankets mainly, even some of the gauze of we have to."

We all grin at each other. This plan just keeps getting better. That they've agreed to it is the key for me. They can even be framed for it if necessary. Assuming Ajax has a low score, and Dove not being a career, an underhanded strategy would be expected from them. We get caught, I'll play dumb and blame everything on them. 

Ajax speaks up, "We should designate who does what now. I can stand guard. I’m not exactly what you’d call stealthy so it would be best if I left that to you two."

Dove and I nod in agreement. I go next. "I’ll get the supplies. And if we get caught and it does come down to a fight, my flanks will be protected by the Cornucopia’s walls and I can concentrate on keeping them at bay with a spear or trident while you two carve them up with swords."

Pursing her lips, Dove hesitates before saying. "To do this quickly, it would be best if I went in there with you and started the fire. But I don’t know if we should risk two of us being in the Cornucopia when the fire starts."

Again, a good point. I mull it over, absentmindedly tapping my foot against the ground. "Try to sleep near the entrance to the Cornucopia. I will, too. And Ajax, try to sleep closer to the edge. That way, we’ll be stepping over the fewest people possible while moving around."

I wait for Dove to say anything else, because she seems to be the best at poking holes in my plans. She only nods so I stand. Ajax and Dove stand with me and we head back towards the elevator. We all get into one of the glass cars and are ferried back down. I look between them. They’re my allies, just like the other careers. Will I be able to betray them just as easily when the time comes?

I push those thoughts from my mind and ask, "So, we’ll do it on the third night?"

Dove adds, "We can do it during the anthem, while the others are distracted."

Ajax nods in his agreement. "The third night it is."

We go back to the elevators. I watch the taffy colored Capitol outside the glass walls. Dove gets off at the fifth floor with a smile and a wave. We wave back as the elevator doors close and we are taken down to the fourth floor. We make it just in time for dinner.

Agrippa and Claudia have come to join us, both to see our scores and to discuss some ideas for our interview angles so they can design accordingly. 

Ajax’s mood sours the closer and closer we get the scoring announcement. I focus on enjoying the caramel flavored pudding and talking with Agrippa about my upcoming interview. Between Agrippa and Luke’s input, I decide to go with an interview angle of sly but feisty. It is pretty close to my normal personality so it will make it easier to not mess up. Add enough flattery and I’ll be alright.

We did go over interviews a little in training, but it was not a main focus. There's no point to interviews if you can't fight. If you can't fight, you don't volunteer, with Ajax being an exception.

We all head over to the sitting area and the scoring announcements begin. I watch intently. Most of the starting bets, and therefore the sponsorships, rely on the training scores. The tribute’s picture is presented with their district number, name, and score to the right.

Tux, 8. Silk, 9. Cassius, 9. Eris, 10. I hope I matched that.

District 3 does poorly, a 3 and a 5.

Ajax, 6. That is bad. What did he do to get a score that low?

My picture appears with a 10. I got a 10! Luke claps me on the shoulder. I can’t help but grin. That’s got to mean sponsors.

Eddy, 4, as predicted. Dove gets an 8. Most of the following tributes have scores below 6. Then Tweed, 11. How did he get an 11? He never even picked up a single weapon during all of training. He’s from the textile district so it’s not like the industry from there would lend itself to combat skills. Were the Gamemakers so drunk at that point they lost their wits completely?

He dies first.


	6. Chapter 6

**Lynn Rayna**  
**District 4, Female Tribute**

Interviews. I can do this. I’m just going to be talking on live TV, that’s mandatory viewing, so literally everyone in Panem will be watching me. No problem.

Can I skip the interviews and go directly to the arena? Everyone else can do interviews. It can just be me and a bunch of mutts in the arena. I’ll just kill mutts until everyone else arrives the next morning. That sounds so much more preferable.

Irene somehow has talked me into wearing high heels again. I am practicing walking around the dining area, making sure that the long skirt I am also wearing does not get caught on furniture or the shoes. Never have I been more grateful for the balance that comes from living on a boat part of the year.

A few more laps around the room and I find my balance on the high heels in spite of the plush carpet. I try different walking paces. Easy glides and confident strides. Irene seems pleased. "Perfect. Now, remember, head high, back straight, and smile. They will love you."

It sounds rehearsed. Maybe this is another one of the things escorts are supposed to do, helping with the etiquette parts of the interviews.

Glad that Irene is now satisfied, I take off the high heels and go see how Luke is doing. Luke and I toss ideas back and forth about what kinds of things I can say. I already can tell that the interview will be a weak point for me. I just don’t enjoy talking about myself all that much, especially because I can’t talk about training since it is illegal. Which doesn’t leave me many things to talk about without having to carefully remove any mentions of the terms "career" and "practice." And it’s hard to be purposefully anything. I hope as long as I don’t make a fool of myself, my sponsorships won’t suffer. By Luke’s barely contained exasperation, he hopes the same.

Soon it is time for lunch. Ajax and Emily join us. Ajax does not speak and Emily just looks irritated. I consider offering encouragement of some kind but decide against it. If he wants to sulk and blow his interview completely, he is the one making that choice.

Between bites of egg salad sandwiches and fruit wrapped in slices of ham, we discuss rough plans for different biomes. Ajax even gives some input, no longer focused on how to compensate for his 6. The ideal biome is a beach or lagoon of some kind where we’ll be able to fish and swim faster than any other tribute. We can rule out a desert due to last year’s disaster. Three tributes dead from dehydration does not lead to happy sponsors.

Most other hot biomes, like savannahs and scrubland, are probably out as well due to the same risk of dehydration. They might take it to the other end of the spectrum, going for alpine or glacier. In that case, bodies of water will be dangerously cold and should be avoided, but at least would still provide food. City ruins tend to be more hazardous due to instable structures and Gamemaker traps combined with a general lack of natural resources. That was the kind of arena Emily faced in her games.

I really do hope for a beach but there’s no telling what it will be. As long as I can find water, I will be okay. That is all I can count on. Water is life.

Emily and Luke send us off to relax while they discuss things. There are already sponsors lining up with the score announcements so it’s probably about that. And about how immature Ajax is being.

I lounge in my room for a while, flipping through the food menu. There are hundreds of things I don’t recognize. Escargot and gelato and linguine. I find a whole list of ice cream flavors with different things mixed in. I have eaten my way through chocolate with marshmallows, vanilla with a caramel swirl, and mint with chocolate chips when there is a knock on my door. I answer, expecting Luke wanting to discuss the interview more, but Ajax is standing there. He looks nervous and asks, "Can I come in?"

I look back at my bed, covers rumpled and a stack of empty bowls balancing on one corner. "Sure."

Taking my seat in the center of the bed once more, I motion for Ajax to sit beside me. He someone manages to perch rather delicately despite his large size. He lets out a heavy sigh. "I don’t know if I’m even going to make it out of the bloodbath."

"You will." He doesn’t seem to react so I continue. "Look, I don’t know if I will either, to be honest. Eris might decide to smash in all of ours skulls with her mace. Or there might not be any weapons in the Cornucopia this year and I’ll have to fight in hand to hand combat. Which probably also means my head gets crushed by Eris. But we’re going to be in the bloodbath no matter what. There’s no changing that now. We have to try. And we have a strategy now that makes the other careers practically irrelevant."

His voice comes out in a low growl, "You got a ten. I got a six."

I roll my eyes. "And Tweed got an eleven. If we base things off the training scores, he’ll be the Victor and the two of us should just lie down and die."

He gets up and I think he will storm off. I want to let him. He can be a jumper for all I care, blowing himself up before the games even starts. But he is part of home and I am not nearly as cruel as I wish I could be.

I grab him by the collar of his shirt and force him to sit back down. I keep my voice even and as calm as I can manage. "Anything can happen in the arena. Even by reducing the threat of the other careers, they’re still a danger, and so are the other tributes. And there’s the wildlife and mutts, starvation and dehydration, infections and Gamemakers traps, and a lot of other things that could kill us. Things that will kill at least one of us. But the District is counting on us. We’re getting fewer and fewer new careers and we need a new Victor to boost morale. Ajax, if I die before you, you have to win and if you die before me, I have to win. Someone needs to tell our friends and families we love them."

I let go of his collar. He stays seated and asks, "When did you become good at motivating speeches?"

I smile. "Since I had to start convincing the twins to do their schoolwork. In spite of the fact I don’t do mine."

It does not work on them. They’re brats. But it has appeared to have worked on Ajax. He shakes his head but he’s laughing now.

We continue our discussion of strategy for the different biomes. We figure that the worst case scenarios are something like tundra or grassland. If the arena is tundra, we might have to stay with the other careers for warmth or we would have to get a tent large enough to fit the three of us as well as some heated sleeping bags to even have a chance at survival. Grassland would be difficult to navigate and may or may not have any large bodies of water to rely on and if it did those spots would attract all of the tributes, plus the wildlife.

Dinner comes and goes, uneventful, but delicious as always. Agrippa made the chocolate caramel cakes again and he’s officially my favorite Capitol citizen.

That night I dream of home and almost believe that when I wake up everything will be back to normal, like the Reaping never happened.

I am woken by an over enthusiastic prep team. I go through another whirlwind of hair removal, exfoliation, and makeup to get me back to beauty base zero. Ambilus is pleased by the condition of my nails even if my cuticles need some care.

After a quick lunch, the true transformation begins.

My features are erased then sharpened into predatory lines, makeup contorting my face. My eyes are outlined in a pearlescent black, my eyebrows are plucked and filled into delicate arches, and my lips are painted black as well. My hair is decorated with strands of tiny black pearls.

It is mid-afternoon by the time I am readied enough for Agrippa to see me. He carries in the dress. All I can see are layers of black fabric and pearls. I step into the dress and Agrippa zips me into it, accompanied by much fussing and tittering from the prep team. I am lead over to a full-length mirror.

The dress is high necked and sleeveless, hugging my torso in just the right way and emphasizing the lean muscles of my arms. The skirt is full length and has a slit running up to my mid-thigh. The pearls start at my neck, black and shimmering, spilling downwards, transitioning to a soft brown then to gold and cream along my torso, before ending in a few white pearls studding the skirt. Despite the multitude of pearls, the dress is surprisingly light and the skirt flares just right when I give a little spin, showing off my legs.

The finishing touches are added, simple black high heels and black pearl earrings. I know manufactured pearls come in a wide variety of colors, grown around synthetic beads and altered with different minerals and dyes to make them whatever color the Capitol demands. Most are grown in District 4 before being shipped off to District 1 for processing. I never expected them to be like this, so perfect.

A smile, unbidden and genuine, spreads across my face. Any advantage Tweed had over me because of the parade has disappeared. There is no conceivable way his stylist could outperform Agrippa tonight.

I turn to Agrippa. He is of the Capitol, with his ridiculous accent, strange hair, and angular black tattoos I can now see spiraling around his arms. I still like the horses that pulled the chariot, but between the chocolate caramel cakes and this dress, I like Agrippa too. Genuinely, not just because I'm full of cake. I hug him, very carefully to avoid smudging the makeup, and say, "Thank you."

I release him and turn to the prep team. "Thank you, all of you."

Ambilus, with his love of the color aqua that matches my own. Cecelia who has made my hair as soft as hers is spiky. And Metella, with her dainty features and ridiculous light up tattoos, who has made my face an exotic combination of predatory and beautiful.

Agrippa dismisses the prep team and has me practice walking in the heels. My lessons with Irene paid off. Once he is happy with how I move, he asks me interview questions. He is a better gauge for this than Luke is.

He has a Capitol sense of humor, which I find easy to work with. Puns and playful hints of self-deprecation do wonders. It creates a sense of humility but the confidence to admit you have some flaws and are aware of how to deal with them. And he does seem genuinely intrigued when I say I have something up my sleeve, metaphorically of course. He is not shallow like I expect him to be. He is a master of his craft as I’ve come to learn and does seem to care about me in his own way. He protects me with beauty.

The interviews are in an hour. I get to see Ajax, dressed in a black tuxedo with gold pearl cuff links and a golden undershirt. While I am predatory in my decadence, he is powerful in his simplicity. It provides a nice contrast and should get us both a few more sponsors.

We pile into the elevator and are whisked downwards. We’re the first group to arrive at the backstage of the interview area. There are no horses to feed so I’m bored on top of being nervous which leaves me only able to focus on my nerves.

I’m normally fine with talking with people, groups don’t even intimidate me that much. But this is something else. What I say could be the difference between winning over some more sponsors or alienating them. And that money can mean life or death in the area.

Silk and Tux arrive next. Tux is wearing a suit like Ajax. I’ve noticed that the interview outfits for the male tributes are normally rather boring and uniform. There are more ridged lines of formality when it comes to menswear. The looks for the female tributes are always the most spectacular. This gives another advantage against Tweed.

Silk is dressed in a short white dress and laden with gold jewelry. There’s bracelets and anklets and rings and a heavy belt. It looks like it should weigh her down but it doesn’t. She moves as gracefully as ever. I guess that must be the point.

We give each other tight lipped smiles. We both want to be the most beautiful tonight. This makes us rivals, even if we’re allies in the arena, for a time.

Gaius Flickerman, grandson of the late Caesar Flickerman, will be the one interviewing us. He is as good, if not better, than his grandfather was, bringing a younger energy along with the same humor and charm. His suit is the thing that changes, rather than his hair and makeup, which remain a constant black and white. This year the suit is a deep indigo blue.

Before I know it I am sitting between the eternally crying boy from 3 and Ajax as cameras pan across us. They linger on me and I smile and give a little wave to the audience. I know what actions to do, words are the tricky part. I see on the screen when the cameras pass across Tweed. He looks handsome, dressed a suit of fine burgundy velvet, but he does not hold a candle to me.

The interviews begin.

Silk is sexy and Tux is cocky.

Cassius is sly and Eris is barbaric.

The girl from District 3 is brave, vowing to protect her little brother, who in turn is painfully shy in his interview.

Then I’m standing and feel like I am floating across the stage. Nothing feels real, not the touch of the fabric on my skin or the roaring of the crowd that fills my ears. I take place center stage next to Gaius, shaking his hand. Plans on being sly and feisty fade to the background. My instincts kick in. All I have to do is survive this for three minutes.

I force the sound of the crowd to the back of my mind, focusing instead on what Gaius is saying. "Welcome, Lynn. How have you been enjoying the Capitol so far?"

I gush a bit. Flattery never hurts. "It’s been amazing. I love everything. The people, the clothes. Oh, and the food especially. Everything’s been so delicious." I turn, showing off my figure, and comment, "I’m amazed I still fit in the dress."

This gets some laughs and Gaius says, "You’re gorgeous and that dress fits perfectly." He then asks, "So, what is your strategy for the arena? You’re already dressed to kill."

Like I could fight in this dress. But a perfect question, if normally irrelevant for a career. I smile as impishly as I can, lips curled in a delicate smirk. "Oh, I have lots hidden up my sleeves. Metaphorically speaking, of course." I pause as the crowd laughs. This is all just stupid. Focus. "I think what I’m planning on will be a first."

This causes a buzz in the crowd. The career strategy is normally predictable. Hunt down all of the other tributes and then turn on your fellow careers. Simple and bloody. I’m just switching things around a bit. Gaius prompts me, "Care to give us a hint?"

I shake my head stubbornly and keep my impish smirk. "There’s no fun in spoiling it now. But I can give you a hint." I lean towards Gaius and say in the mock whispers, "Things will really light up."

The audience continues to mummer and speculate.

"So, Lynn," Gaius gives me a winning kind of smile, his too white teeth flashing in the stage lights. "Why did you volunteer?"

Glory is not the answer they want. Money is not the answer they want, or not put so bluntly. I let the smirk fade and replace it with a small smile. "I have a little sister and a little brother, Kit and Dorian. They’re twins and turned nine last month. I promised them that I’d win and we’d get to live in one of the big houses in the Victor’s Village."

The audience awws. A sob story about family never hurts. I’m surprised District 3 didn’t emphasize that even more than they did.

The buzzer goes off and my time is up. Thanks the gods for time wasting laughter. Gaius sends me off with the odds being ever in my favor and I can relax a bit. That wasn’t as painful as I thought it would be. It’s still stupid and I feel like a fool up here on stage, but it’s over now.

Ajax’s interview goes surprisingly well. He dismisses the poor score in training. He talks up how he is strong from hauling in nets and reeling in the long lines. This is also sure to earn the sponsorship of the citizens who enjoy tuna.

Dove does wonderfully during her interview. She’s funny and witty and has the audience in stitches more than I did. I’m glad to have her in the alliance.

The next interviews are plain. No real stand outs. Just a bunch of awkward kids desperately trying to win the favor of the men and women who have the money to extend their lives.

Then it is Tweed’s turn. He is sullen and avoidant, brushing off questions about the Capitol and his training score with clipped answers. He’s doing himself no favors. The crowd’s bored at this point. Then the question of why he volunteered comes up. Even I’m interested in his answer to this.

He grins. "The odds are in my favor."

That wasn’t helpful at all. At least I know he’s confident, really confident, about what ever he’s planning. He has the training score to back it up. The crowd loves this. And there goes my meager mystery plan advantage.

The interviews end and we all head back to the training center. I wind up in the elevator with Dove and the boy from District 7. No one says anything.

I get off the elevator and head to my room for a moment of peace. I stare at myself in the mirror for a moment. Soft brown hair, grey eyes, and a build that I always hope comes off a lithe but just looks skinny most of the time, especially when I’m put next to someone like Ajax, Tux, or Eris. I do not look like a Victor no matter how much they sharpen my features so I look dangerous and deadly. In around fourteen hours, the games will begin. I hope I can actually survive the bloodbath.

Dinner is delicious. Course after course arrives. And most of it is seafood. Finally it feels just a bit like home. They even have fried squid. We all are enjoying ourselves, somehow. This will be the last meal we all share together. We watch the interview recaps. I think I do reasonably well. I’m not spectacular by any means, that best part is Agrippa’s dress, but I played that up well. The anthem plays and it is time for goodbyes. This will be the last time I see Emily, Luke, Irene, and Claudia. Unless I win, that is. Irene is crying and hugging Ajax and me. Agrippa and Claudia guide her away to comfort her. She really cares in her own Capitol way.

Our mentors each offer a last piece of advice.

Emily looks between us and says, "Stick together as long as you can. I don’t care how mad get at each other, because I know it will happen with you two, but you need to suck it up."

Luke says, "Make sure to keep fresh water with you at all times. The last thing you need is to get dehydrated out there. It will impair your judgment and makes you so weak that boy from 3 could finish you off."

Points taken.

With that, we hug them and say out goodbyes before heading off to bed. I wash the layers of makeup off my face and change into a warm nightgown. I curl up in a ball in the center of the bed, pile the pillows and sheets around me, and fall asleep.

* * *

**Luke Seymour**  
**District 4**  
**Victor of the 77th Hunger Games, Mentor of Lynn Rayna**

Nearly 80 Solidi in less than two minutes. Not bad, considering the games haven’t even started yet. Games' price are always listed in Solidus, rather than the standard Argenteus. Sponsorships have a half Solidus minimum, 25 Argenti, which is the thing that makes it so difficult for smaller donations to be made. That's enough money to feed a family for a week in the Districts, and that buys a small packet of crackers in the arena. In the Capitol, that money buys a cheap purse or a couple drinks at a bar. It's no small wonder they throw their money at sponsorships.

I watch the total steadily increase as the interview recaps finish playing. Sponsorships are pouring in now. Lynn is proving to be rather popular. Her interview was far from spectacular, but Agrippa is an excellent designer and Lynn is attractive if not eloquent. And more than any other tribute I’ve mentored, she needs this money.

In the pack, with the Cornucopia as a safety net, most careers are not overly concerned with sponsor money during the first week. Sponsorships still matter, it keep things interesting and keeps the bets flowing, which keeps tributes from being targeted by the Gamemakers. The money is helpful and often provides minor aid like hot food and better medicines than those available in any first aid kits, but their lives rarely depend on it. Only during the second half of the games, when the pack begins to split, do sponsors typically become a matter of life and death for careers. Lynn is planning on destroying the Cornucopia, so she’ll need this money sooner rather than later.

The phone rings and I answer, cradling it against my shoulder as I continue to jot down notes about the other sponsorships coming in.

"Luke, how are you doing, my lovely?" Mrs. Volous’ voices comes over the line.

Oh joy, this means a garden party. I force a smile onto my face and reply, "Wonderful, Violet. I take it that the party is going to be the same time as it was last year? I kept my schedule clear just for you."

She titters, a strange sound coming from an eight-five year old woman. "It is. It does get dreadfully boring after the bloodbath. Perfect time for a party. In the meantime, I’d love to sponsor that girl you’re mentoring. What can I get her?"

Mrs. Volous is a consistent creature, I’ll give her that. I check the still climbing sponsor total. Lynn’s personal total is over 300 Solidi already, enough for a blanket and a little bit of food. Iodine tablets would be good to get, but a bottle of 50 costs 75 Solidi and that would only purify about 25 quarts. Fortunately for me, Mrs. Volus does not know the prices of any items. "Well, another eighty-five Solidi and I could get Lynn some iodine tablets."

"Oh, of course. I’ll triple that."

Garden parties are worth keeping rich widows around. Certainly better than many of the alternatives to getting sponsors' money. All Mrs. Volus spends her money on to my knowledge is clothes, designer pet mutts, parties, and sponsorships. "Thank you, Violet. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow."

"Goodbye, see you tomorrow, my lovely."

Mrs. Volous ends the call and I answer the next one.

"How much to guarantee Lynn gets the weapon she needs in the Cornucopia?"

I don't recognize the feminine voice and the question also gives me pause. Cornucopia guarantees are horrendously expensive but I'm never going to turn one down.

"Just a moment." I reply before pulling up the price list on my tablet.

The trident might not even be available. It isn't every year. Weapons, mid-range, and yes the trident is listed. No block out, so the Gamemakers are letting guarantees through this year. I stare at the price for a moment. "Two thousand and two hundred Solidi."

That's over half of my yearly Victor stipend.

"Done. If Lynn is in need of anything else, go to the Jabber Jay and order an absinthe. I'll be there. May the odds be ever in Lynn's favor."

The line goes dead. I stare at the screen of my tablet as the total jumps in a series of three large amounts. There's a group that wants Lynn to have an advantage right from the start. I do not immediately recognize any of the names attached to the sponsorship amounts. Good and bad. If they were particularly predatory, I'd know them personally or through Dawn. But they are not wealthy or influential enough that I heard about them previously from normal sponsorship channels. Wild cards, it could go either way with any one of them.

With a few taps, there will now be a trident waiting for Lynn in the Cornucopia. It's no golden trident but Lynn is already proving to be popular and she's not even in the arena yet. One of the only other comparable sponsor gifts I can think of is Basalt's claymore but he got that after the bloodbath.

I'm both thrilled and concerned. Emily's voice pulls me from my daze. "Did I just hear a guarantee?"

I look over at her and nod. "Trident. No idea who the sponsors are. Don't recognize the caller’s voice, and she said I could meet her at the Jabber Jay if Lynn needs anything else."

Emily whistles. "What did you just get into?"

"No idea."


	7. Chapter 7

**Day 1**

**Lynn Rayna**  
**District 4, Female Tribute**

Agrippa comes to get me before dawn. I walk up to the roof in my nightgown. This is a different part than the section containing the garden. I just keep reminding myself that I am a career and have been training for this since I was 10. The sudden appearance of the hovercraft startles me into full alertness. I know they are silent and have cloaking fields but it still jars me.

A ladder made of metal cables drops down and I start climbing. When both feet are on the rungs, I get frozen in place by some kind current and winched into the hovercraft. My heart races and my pulse roars in my ears. I try to remain calm but I can’t move.

A nurse dressed in white approaches. She looks normal, save for her eyes being an unnatural shade of orange. She holds a syringe with long, thick needle. "This is your tracker."

She sticks the needle in my left shoulder. I can feel the lump of the tracker nestle into the muscle tissue. The nurse pulls the needle back out and sticks a piece of medicated gauze over the puncture. The ladder releases me and the nurse leaves. I take a seat on a plush couch. My heart still races and I take slow, deep breaths. I can feel a bump where the tracker rests in my shoulder. It would be hard to take out without damaging anything important, which is kind of the point. The Gamemakers can’t lose a tribute in the arena. How else could they target them with mutts and traps?

Agrippa is brought up and an Avox brings us breakfast. I pick at a plate of pancakes, my appetite abandoning me. Soon enough I will either be dead or eating the supplies provided in the Cornucopia. Out of the window I can see the Capitol fading into the distance. We are heading east when the windows go black. I try to get some sense of any turns we take but the ride is so smooth I have no idea if we’re even heading east anymore.

Agrippa and I do not talk much. This is the fourth year he has done this for District 4. He used to be with District 9 before getting promoted to 4. Before that, District 12, I think. Eleven girls have been dressed in his clothes and did not return. Will I be the first tribute he has been stylist to that will emerge as Victor or will I be another body in a pine box?

I’ve attended the funerals for the tribute of District 4 since I started training. When we’re young, they do it to warn us of what will most likely be our fates should we volunteer. When we’re older, we’re mourning over the loss of our fellows.

The Capitol provided pine boxes are turned into rafts by the carpenter Mr. Ballast. We lay the body out and place a coin in their mouth to pay Charon for passage across the sea to the afterlife. They are given their favored weapons and some of the favorite things, like a childhood toy or some of their favorite food. Our best arches have the duty of setting the raft alight with a flaming arrow once it is pushed out to sea.

The past three girls were dressed beautifully, in a simple yet refined way. A thought occurs to me and I blurt out, "Do you dress them? The ones that die. For the funeral."

"Yes." Agrippa looks sad for a moment, the first time I’ve ever seen real sadness from a Capitol citizen, and then he smiles at me and says, "I’m sure I’ll be dressing you for the victory tour, not a funeral."

No matter my fate, he’ll take care of me. I trust him enough to do it, too. My appetite returns a bit. I finish the plate of pancakes before the nerves ruin it again. I just need to get my hands on a trident or spear and I’ll be fine. A sword would work, too, if necessary. I can do this. I have to do this.

Around an hour and a half later, the hover craft sets us in the launch room. I shower and brush my teeth. I have to ball my hands into fists to stop them from shaking. Agrippa combs my hair for me and gives me a plain black headband to keep it out of my face. It’s one of the plastic ones, not cloth. I guess so I can’t strangle anyone with it. I could still stab someone with the plastic if I break it. That might be useful if I’m desperate enough.

The outfit arrives. I hope it's a wet suit.

It isn’t. The odds are not in my favor at the moment. 

I slip on the undergarments. They’re made from some kind of thick fabric. They will be warm and good for retaining heat. I pull on the thick, brown canvas pants and fasten the leather belt around my narrow waist. The light green shirt is long sleeved and made from the same kind of fabric as the undergarments. The jacket is dark brown with light green trim and is made of leather that fortunately is flexible enough that it doesn’t make too much noise when I move. It has a reflective lining that will retain body heat plus a hood and plenty of zippered pockets. The socks are thick and warm, wool probably. The boots are dark brown leather with a lining of rubber to keep out most of the damp and go half way up my calves.

I pace around the room to test my range of movement as well as to try and relieve some of the anxiety that’s building within me. Cool and wet. That’s all I can tell from the provided outfit. What kind of environment? What kind?

With no one else to turn to, I turn to Agrippa. "What kind of arena do you think it will be?"

He examines that fabric that makes up the clothing. His brows knit in concentration. When he leans over I can see the edge of a tattoo on his neck, a yellow flower of some kind, standing out against his dark olive skin. His words are careful, "The temperatures will be cool, but shouldn’t go below freezing; the jacket’s not designed for that. It will be wet, standing water in places most likely, based on the boots, but nothing deep enough to swim in."

Not what I wanted at all. Staying warm and dry, that’s going to be a main goal. Agrippa and I sit side by side on the couch. He fastens my bracelet back around my left wrist where it belongs. He smiles at me. He smiles when he’s upset, I realize. "That’s a beautiful bracelet. A lot of love went into it."

"A lot did." I echo, not knowing what else to say.

There's the pearl Dorian found, wrapped in wire, which rests against the back of my arm. A neat spiral shell with a hole in it that Kit found that lies right next to the pearl. There are a couple pieces of sea glass, one red brown and one bottle green, for Min and Jessie. Then there's the pewter owl charm. Right next to it is a pewter otter that Luke gave me when I won the final bought and accepted my place as the tribute for this year. 

Agrippa's so confusing. I wonder if Claudia is the same. Or the other stylists for that matter. And Irene seemed to care, so I wonder about the escorts too. Some are blatantly in it for the money and fame. But others care about us or appear to, based on reactions. Why do they do it then, getting to know us just to see us die? I understand the ones in it for the fame and money better.

I nibble at a roll and drink some water. A pleasant female voice announces that it is time for launch. I clutch the owl charm and make a silent prayer to Athena. Ten days, ten weeks, ten years. However long it may take, let me return to my home alive. Please.

The metal platform somehow manages to feel cold even through the thick soled boots. Agrippa and I face each other. We both smile when we’re upset and so we’re both smiling now. Agrippa speaks first, "May the odds be ever in your favor, Lynn."

"Thank you for making me so beautiful." I pause, then add, "And for those little chocolate caramel cakes."

A glass tube slides over me and I begin my ascent into the darkness above. I breathe, in and out, in and out. I must remain calm. I must remain focused.

The light dazzles me and so for a moment I can only rely on the scent of damp earth and wood varnish to give me some indication of what the arena will hold. The moisture is a comfort. The temperature is pleasantly cool, but will not be welcome once the sun goes down. Then the voice of the announcer, Gemus Laurel, booms all around me. "Ladies and gentlemen, let the Eighty-Seventh Hunger Games begin!"

Sixty seconds to get my bearings.

The launch platform is at the very end of a wooden walkway that leads towards a central platform where the Cornucopia sits. The walkway is around ten yards long. I can cross that distance in no time at all. The Cornucopia’s mouth faces me and I can see the pile of weapons lying there. A gleaming silver trident rests at the top. Mine.

The wooden walkways and platform rests above a mess of mosses and reeds and mud. There’s a glint of water below the platform. In front of me, past the Cornucopia, lies a forest. There are oak trees mainly. A glance to my left; there are reeds and rocks. To my right, clusters of trees stand over more reeds.

I look at the tributes on either side of me. The boy from District 7 is to my left and Jay, the boy from District 11, is to my right. He’s fast, got the best time on the obstacle course. That might be a problem. I can feel him watching me when I turn away. He’s most likely to be my first opponent. 

I can’t see Tweed anywhere. He must be on the other side of the Cornucopia. I won’t be able to reach him unless he stays to fight, which is very unlikely. It is a foolish thought, but I hope he survives the bloodbath if I can't reach him, so I’ll be able to kill him myself later.

Ajax is on the third walkway to my right. Our eyes meet and we nod to each other. Dove is on the platform next to him. Silk is way off to my left. Looking around again, Tux, Cassius, and Eris aren’t in sight.

The gong sounds and I’m sprinting down the walkway. My head is filled with the sounds of boots striking wooden boards. I hurtle over a square of plastic and a few small packs that lie between me and the Cornucopia.

Something catches the collar of my jacket and I’m jerked to a halt. Adrenaline courses through me. Not like this. I’m not dying like this.

I twist around, my left arm connecting with the arm holding my jacket. A flash of umber skin and I can see Jay fully. He’s wide eyed, surprised he caught me or that I’m fighting back? He is over a head taller than me. My center of gravity is lower than his. I grab his arm and spin, jerking him forwards and off balance as I do so. I kick his knee as hard as I can. These boots are good for kicking. He releases his grip on my jacket and I release my grip on him. He sprawls on the ground and I’m running towards the Cornucopia again. I don’t want to risk unarmed combat with someone.

My trident waits for me. Grabbing it, I turn back around. I feel a lot better with the weapon in my hands. Jay has a backpack slung over one shoulder and has picked up a machete that lay just past the mouth of the Cornucopia. He holds it in two hands and stands in a poor mockery of a defensive stance. He is backing away, not taking his dark eyes off of my pale ones. There’s a bit of a limp, the knee I kicked obviously pains him. Now it’s my turn to be on the offensive.

I charge at him. He tries to run but stumbles over a stray bedroll. I bring the trident down on his leg, driving barbed tips deep into his calf. There’s no more running for him now. He rolls onto his back, tearing himself free of my trident’s barbs, and tries to slash at me with his machete. I bat the blow aside easily and drive my trident into his gut.

This is what he gets for having the gall to attack me. I am a career of District 4. My life revolves around killing and I’ve killed sharks larger than this struggling whelp.

It takes precious time to tear my trident back out again. I might have to file the barbs off. Or make sure to carry a smooth blade with me. Jay tries again to slash at me with the desperation only a dying man can have. I turn the blade aside with a bit more difficulty this time and take a step forward. I manage to strike his neck and tear the trident back out. 

He stops trying to slash at me, the machete falling from his hand. He clutches at his throat, trying to stanch the gush of blood. He splutters and wheezes and whistles out his last breaths.

I turn back to the Cornucopia. Ajax strikes down one of the other male tributes. The sword strike exposes white bone through the red of flesh and blood. I think it might be the one from District 9, or maybe 10, I can’t tell which, neither were important so I didn’t take note. I head back to the mouth of the Cornucopia and stand beside Ajax, guarding the best of the supplies. His hands are shaking. Mine are too.

Training doesn’t prepare you for this. It does nothing to warn you of what it actually means to kill another person. I know what it is to hunt. This might be as easy as hunting, easier even, since people aren’t as fast as fish. But it doesn’t feel like hunting. It feels like, well, murder, I guess.

I had to kill Jay. He would have killed me given the chance. He did try to.

It still feels wrong.

The fighting lulls for a moment. The tributes that decided to just run for it are either gone or dead. This leaves only those who want to fight or are going to make a last, desperate attempt for some of the supplies before fleeing. The tributes from District 7 come into my view. They are both armed with axes. This has made them bold. Cassius slinks into view as well, a knife in hand.

The tributes from District 7 charge. I hold my ground while Ajax goes out to meet them. The boy dodges around him and continues straight for me. I’m the smallest target he can see. He jumps over Jay’s fallen form. Does he not realize that he’ll wind up the same?

I slip to the side, letting his momentum carry him towards the weapon pile. If I’m lucky he’ll just impale himself and I won’t have to do a thing. He doesn’t impale himself but he does stumble and a sword blade cuts his leg. Reversing my hold on my trident, I hit the same leg with the butt of the weapon. He falls back with a cry of pain, barely maintaining his grip on his axe. Still clutching his axe, he scrambles backwards away from me and the treacherous supplies he so desires to get.

He gets back to his feet. The audience, the sponsors among them, love drawn out battles. I keep that in mind. I lunge, catching his jacket with a barb of my trident. The fabric and leather tear and he tries to bring his axe down on the trident’ haft. He misses. He backs away until there’s around ten feet between us and paces back and forth a little. It’s like watching one of the mountain rams on the cliffs preparing for another charge.

The ground is clear in front of me. I take a step forward. He charges me with a wordless shout.

Eight feet away. Now six feet away with the axe raised above his head. His middle is wide open. Training would have taught him better. But he has no training and I do.

I drop into a kneeling position and strike forward with my trident, aiming so the prongs are parallel with the line of his sternum. He impales himself. The impact pushes me back, my boots struggling to get traction. We come to a halt when he stops moving, standing hunched over, with my trident deep in his abdomen. Under the circumstances, the look of shock on his face is the funniest thing I’ve ever seen. I can’t help but chuckle a little. I’m glad I mastered that trick in training back home.

Apparently Cassius thinks it’s funny too because I hear his cackling laugh from somewhere off to my left. I stand, shoving the boy from District 7 back as I do so and driving the trident even deeper into him. He cries out in pain. His axe drops to the ground with a thud and he clutches desperately at the trident impaled in his torso. He coughs and blood dribbles from his lips. I must have hit a lung with the uppermost prong.

The cries turn to whimpers that turn into spluttering gurgles. It stops being even a little funny. I try to pull my trident free but his grip on it is too strong. This is annoying. If he wants to keep it for now who am I to say no? I give another shove and let go of the trident. He falls to the ground. His lips are moving, I think he’s trying to say something, but I block it out.

I pick up a short sword from the weapon pile so I’m armed with something until I can get my trident back. Or I can cut it free if I have to.

I can’t hear the sounds of any more fighting. There’s just moaning and wheezing from the dying tributes strewn around the platform. The bloodbath seems to have come to an end. This was a pretty quick one. But plenty of weapons scattered around leads to fewer drawn out hand to hand fights. The girl from District 7 has her throat sliced wide open and Cassius holds a bloody knife. Tux circles back around into view, Silk alongside him. Eris joins us, covered in gore and grinning. Dove arrives last, clutching a pair of bloody knives to her chest.

I scan the area for any other tributes. I look back the way I came and my heart sinks into the pit of my stomach. The boy from District 3 is huddled on his launch platform. He must be waiting for his sister get him and run. I don’t think she’s coming at this point.

Eris starts down the walkway. I can’t look. To distract myself, I turn my attention back to my trident. I grab it and pull. The barbs dug in deep and tear massive gashes in his abdomen as I struggle to get my trident free. Blood and bile pour out of the lower wounds and some of his intestines are now spilling out from the ragged gashes. The stench makes me gag. The worse thing is that along with the stench of bile is that of orange juice. He must have had some with his breakfast.

There’s a chorus of mutters of "gross" and "disgusting" and some accompanying gagging noises from the other careers. Silk looks green and I doubt I’m faring much better. We all back away from the body and I wipe a bit of intestine off of my trident on the boards. All of the bodies are staring stink a bit more now.

It’s hard to block out the sound of crunching bone coming from the direction of the walkway. There’s no screaming, so it has to be a quick death. A caved in skull and a pulped brain. A small mercy for whatever it’s worth.

Eris returns. All I can smell is blood and gore and bile and orange juice. She brags, "I’ve gotten three kills now."

For a moment, the scent of orange juice is overwhelming. I can’t help but comment, "I don’t know how much that last one counted."

After the words leave my mouth, all I want to do is take them back. Pissing off Eris could be a very grave mistake. Trying to act nonchalant, I grab the corner of a thin blanket to start cleaning off my trident, watching her in my peripheral vision. Tension permeates the air, lingering from the bloodbath that did not last very long, leaving us all full of excess energy.

Eris sneers at me. "It’s not my fault you didn’t have the guts to do it."

I sneer back at her. "Please, the only one here that doesn’t have any guts is him."

I gesture to the body of the boy from District 7 with his guts spread around him. There’s a slight pause, then we all start laughing and the tension fizzles away. It might be the stress or we all just have sick senses of humor, maybe a bit of both. Even Dove is chuckling beside me as she sorts through the selection of swords and daggers.

Everyone gathers a few of their favored weapons. I find a quiver to store a few javelins in, slinging it across my back. I attach a knife sheath to my belt, on the right side so my hand can rest on the pommel. There’s also a long spear that I set aside near the entrance for later use if anything happens to my trident.

We sort everything by importance. Medical supplies and most of the food get placed in the back or the Cornucopia and a few crates are shoved in front of them. Cassius rigs a trap of ropes and spare weapons primed to fall on anyone who tries to get through the crates to the supplies beyond. We have to leave the area so they’ll take the bodies away. Some of them also have to finish dying, too. It also allows other tributes the chance to sneak back and grab some supplies if they’re bold enough.

Cassius volunteers to stay further behind, roaming the area around the Cornucopia, just past the walkways, to see if he can get any tribute that tries to come back for supplies.

With Cassius staying behind, that still leaves six of us to head out. Keeping my trident at the ready, I hop off the pier. Eddy lies face down in the mud, a throwing dagger embedded in his leg and another in his back. It's Silk's work. His chest is still rising and falling, shallow, but there. There are deep drag marks in the mud from where he's tried to get under the pier, pulling himself across the mud with his hands. I don’t know what emotion I should be feeling at the sight so I just turn away.


	8. Chapter 8

**Luke Seymour**  
**District 4**  
**Victor of the 77th Games, Mentor of Lynn Rayna**

Vitals all stable and her trident in hand, Lynn is in good shape. Her personal sponsorship total is rising, as well as the total for the alliance. The alliance total is not high as it normally is, but as far as bloodbaths go, this was a rather uneventful one. Ten tributes dead without too much fighting. Nothing overly prolonged at any rate, little hand to hand, mainly bladed weapons.

The most drama came from Eris caving in a twelve year old's skull. It won't be a very re-playable shot, a scene too gory by even Capitol standards. Not enough sport to it. It takes no skill to kill a defenseless opponent.

The monitoring room is filled with the sounds of heavy sighs and fists being slammed on table tops. Moth is swearing and I can pick up the phrase "gutted him like some damn fish."

She's obviously never seen an actual fish being gutted, but the point is clear. District 7 hasn't done well in recent years so I can't blame her. The reason for their poor performance is mainly because their tributes have been targeted by careers who don't want to get hacked apart by axes.

Jian is staring at the screen in front of him. It's quiet enough that I can make out his whisper. "His heart is still beating."

I don't even want to think how that's possible. That little boy should be dead. Anything else is just too cruel.

The career pack heads north. That will take them in pursuit of the apparent alliance of the pair from 12, the boy from 10, and girl from 11. The four tributes have a healthy lead and the pack isn't moving that quickly. If they get too close, the Gamemakers will inevitably turn them away so the games don't end too quickly.

With Lynn as safe as she can be in the arena, I have a garden party to attend.

I nod to Emily and head up to my room.

The dresser contains a rather wretched selection but that's not anything new. I settle for a pair of khaki slacks and a sea green tunic style top that I can leave the laces undone on. It's expected from me at this point, so why not pander a bit.

I step onto the elevator and see Michael in the one next to mine. He looks rather awkward in his grey slacks and and light blue button down. The clothing suits him, though. He has fawn skin and soft brown curls. The cooler color palette gives him a bit of a harder edge. My compliments to his stylist.

I fall into step beside him and ask, "Where are you headed off to?"

He jumps a bit. "Oh. Garden party. Mrs. Volous apparently hosts one after the bloodbath every year."

I haven't seen him there before so this must be his first time being invited. I chuckle a bit, since he already looks so lost. "That's where I'm headed, too. We can grab a car together."

There are a few cars waiting outside of the center. I go to the nearest one and hand a card with Mrs. Volous' address to the Avox driver. He nods and opens the door. I wave Michael in first and follow after him. The Avox closes the door after us and take his place behind the wheel.

There's champagne and bottled water in the fridge of the car. I take a bottle of water and lean back in the plush seats. The Capitol does ferry us around in style. As we start towards the city center, the Games Sector fading into the distance to be replaced by high rises and malls and parks. There are little parties everywhere that will only grow once the canons go off and the bloodbath is officially over.

Michael breaks the silence. "Dove mentioned Lynn has a plan of some sort. Mind if I get the details?"

Reactions to Lynn's plan are amusing. Emily stared at me in disbelief before much swearing ensued for encouraging it. Neith gave her full support, but that might have been to spite Emily.

"She's going to burn down the Cornucopia."

Michael frowns a little, then nods tom himself and smiles. "It would certainly change the late game dynamics. I won my games by poisoning the career's water supply."

I remember. Gull had been the only one not stupid enough to drink it. That didn't prevent him from being stabbed by the male from District 2 who was desperately trying to kill anyone remaining in hopes that becoming Victor could rescue him from the poison running through his veins. Michael finished Gull off with a knife, his only physical kill, and the one that made him Victor.

The car slows and a crowd flows around us. The tinted windows, along with quite a few drinks and various highs on the part of the crowd members, prevent them from recognizing us and swarming the car.

We continue to crawl through traffic. I watch the screen playing the general feed for the games. They have a skycam following the pack, weaving dramatically through the trees above them before switching to a treecam feed of the Cornucopia. Tweed has returned.

Cassius had rigged a rudimentary trap on the supplies and remained behind to keep watch.

Tweed waits until Cassius is on the other side of the Cornucopia before clambering on to the platform. He grabs a couple of the smaller backpacks then goes to the Cornucopia's mouth. He presses himself against the wall, hidden from view as Cassius passes in front of the Cornucopia again.

The feed switches to a camera in the Cornucopia's mouth, looking down through the ropes and weapons to Tweed below. Tweed, still pressed against the side, tugs on the ropes. The trap falls with a clatter. Tweed grabs all of the rope within reach and takes off running.

A skycam is sent out to follow the ensuing chase. Tweed disappears into the rocks and reeds to the south and Cassius does not stand a chance at finding him. Even the cameras have trouble finding Tweed again, only focusing on him when he reemerges within a stand of alder trees.

A reasonable balance of supplies. Light on weapons, but he might not really need them if he's aiming for a stealthier approach.

There are going to be a lot of plans this game. All I can do is to get Lynn whatever supplies she needs.

The car comes to a halt, this time not because of traffic. We've reached our destination. The Avox opens the door and I step out, leaving the water bottle behind, knowing it will be replaced by a glass of punch or flute of champagne in due time.

Michael and I are lead to the garden by one of Mrs. Volous' Avoxes. I don't recognize the young man, he must be new. I hope nothing happened to any of the others.

In a matter of moments, I'm swarmed by old ladies. I laugh and flirt and tease, a lot of it directed at Michael because he's terribly awkward about the whole thing. I do feel a bit bad for him, but then again I'm bored and he's the only target I know can take it.

Then Dawn arrives, fashionably late as fitting for a District 1 mentor, and she's dressed in some ridiculous cloth-of-silver summer dress. It washes out her already pale skin and makes her look sick. That could be the stress as well. Last year's Victor, Midas, is proving to be rather popular due to his looks, and he turns sixteen in a week. She's his mentor and will no doubt feel responsible for trying to keep him safe, a feat she will never manage.

We stick close by the punch bowl, debating on how much champagne to add in order to make things a bit more interesting. Poor Michael is just swarmed and I step in to give him a break. On the plus side, I manage to get another large personal sponsor for Lynn as well as a couple smaller ones for the alliance.

* * *

**Khaleesi "Cassie" Storm**  
**Capitol Citizen**  
**Mutt Designer**

The recap of the first day has been completed and the pack has head out in pursuit of the other tributes once again. That leaves things rather dull and many seek further entertainment in the Jabber Jay.

The two mutts circle each other in the pit. Pools of blood and clumps of fur and flesh lay scattered on the sand. Their designers are amateurs and it shows.

The bear mutt will win. It is larger and brute force is the only factor when there is no skill. It bites the head off of the wolf mutt and proves the point.

Jeers and cheers alike fill the air and I barely hear a staff member say, "Your guest had arrived, Mrs. Storm."

I give a nod of acknowledgment and the staff member melts back into the crowd, leaving behind a rather out of place Luke Seymour. The Jabber Jay really isn't his style. He's more of a Purple Storm or Blacklight Lion man, suited more to smoking lounges and raves, not underground mutt fighting rings.

The announcer calls the next match. Slightly more veteran designers. Potential for interest here.

I remember I have a guest and greet him. "We spoke on the phone earlier. I'm Khaleesi Storm, but please, just call me Cassie."

Luke studies me. He's trying to place me, going through his no doubt impressive list of rich and interesting characters. I can practically see the light go off and he says, "You're Agrippa's wife. A pleasure to finally make your acquaintance."

I suppose to a Victor, my husband's reputation would far exceed my own. Around here I'm either known as the owner of the ring or the dragon designer. It's a rather nice change. 

I motion to the seat next to me and ask, "Anything you'd like? The Jabber Jay is not strictly a bar, as you can no doubt tell, but the drinks are still quite good."

Luke takes a seat and Seasmoke stirs in my lap. The dragon mutt scents the air with his black forked tongue and cranes his neck towards Luke. Luke freezes and I am quick to say, "He's not one of my fighters. Can't even breathe fire. No more dangerous than a cat."

"I see." Luke states, but his skepticism is clear.

I restrain Seasmoke with a gentle hand, districting him with a stroke under his jaw and change topics to the most relevant one at hand. "Last I checked, Lynn was doing well. So I take it you came here for another reason."

Luke gives a well-practiced smile. "Yes."

He is still studying me. He knows I gave a large sponsor donation, my name, the identity of my husband, and where I chose to meet with him. He does not trust me one bit, nor do I blame him for it.

I glance down at the arena below. A snake mutt is coiled around the neck of a large cat mutt, which is clawing its own face off trying to get the reptile off. Hallucinogenic in the venom? I turn back to Luke. "I have no ill intentions towards either you or Lynn. I find certain actions on the part of President Ferrum, mainly continuing some of the policies of his predecessor, to be abhorrent. And foolish, given those videos."

Luke visibly relaxes, his smile going from practiced to tired. I have no doubt he was tenuously if not directly involved in getting Finnick Odair's tell-all videos released in the weeks following the death of Coriolanus Snow. The Jabber Jay managed to obtain some copies that are still valuable leverage.

Luke's still cautious, though. "Then why so generously sponsor Lynn?"

I consider that even his tried smile is an act; a test to determine if I will take advantage of any perceived vulnerability on his part.

"I find her interesting. And promising." I elaborate a bit. "She got bit by a shark, around three years ago. It was partially my fault, I'm the one that requested a live pup. But despite being bit, she still got it. I found the feat to be impressive."

Luke chuckles. "I remember that day. She got forty stitches and still has the scar."

"I always wondered what would become of the girl that still got the shark. It came as little surprise to me when she volunteered."

Luke gives a little hum of agreement. He is her mentor now and there is little doubt in my mind that he was her mentor long before she volunteered, or even before she got bit by the shark pup.

I glance back at the arena below to see the large cat mutt finish clawing its own eyes out. It collapses to the ground and the round is finally finished. The announcer calls for the next match. It looks like I'll be against Rochester today. Could be interesting.

I select Blackdread from the command list. He's my oldest surviving mutt and always the crowd pleaser. The ground shifts below as guests and staff are moved away from the expanding arena and the force fields shimmer to life.

Leaning back in my seat, I suggest, "Stay for a while longer if you can. Mingle a bit. While not everyone shares all my views, you'll find most of us here rather agreeable. More interested in beast blood and gambling than any other vices."

Luke replies but I'm not really paying attention to him. Blackdread emerges from his den, smoke already pouring out of his gaping maw. He stands six foot at the shoulder and dwarfs the crowd closest to him. Rochester's mutt emerges and it's a unicorn. He made a unicorn to kill my dragon, all pearly white fur, cloven hoods, and wickedly sharp horn. The creature is far larger than any horse should be. Moose stock, perhaps? Yet there is something elegant about it, but then again white is awfully slimming.

Blackdread is a flash of black and grey scales, fangs glistening as they flash towards the unicorn. It dodges and slashes him across the chest, drawing blood. Bellowing in pain, my dragon unleashes a torrent of methane blue flame at the creature. The flames only singe its fur and it charges. Blackdread takes to the air, throwing up a whirl of sand and rakes the unicorn with his hind claws.

He lands on the wounded mutt's back and sinks his fangs into its neck. He shakes his head and there is a satisfying crack.

Even when there is skill, brute strength still determines things more often than not, inelegant as it is.


	9. Chapter 9

**Day 2**

**Lynn Rayna**  
**District 4, Female Tribute**

Cassius, Eris, Tux, and Silk have head out with equipped night vision glasses, going south this time where there seems to only be rocks and hills. Dove and I light a pair of torches while Ajax volunteers to stay and keep watch. We head back to the north to see if we missed anything. 

The rain has made the ground sticky and our boots make sucking sounds whenever we take a wrong step. The walkways are too loud so this is our only option. The worse thing is that there’s no signs of other tributes passing through here. The rain washed away any boot prints that could have been made in mud so we have no idea of what direction anyone went in. Broken branches could have been made by the wind, or animals, or tributes with no way of distinguishing between the sources.

Creatures are stirring in the dark now. I have no idea what they might be. I know the calls of all the water birds and the scuttling of crabs and the rare bark of seals. The screeches and rustling and low mournful calls are alien to me. We have to keep our torches high to avoid burning ourselves but that leaves the ground in heavy shadow. Dove narrowly avoids stepping on a snake that had hidden among some bushes.

We’re damp and cold and have no idea where any of the other tributes are. Huddling together on top of a large log, we try to plan our next move. It would be a waste to not take advantage of the darkness so I suggest, "Let’s head back. We might be able to get some packing done."

"Sure." She replies, her voice still a little shaky after the close encounter with the snake.

It takes longer to walk back. The distant glow of the brazier back at camp is the only thing that keeps us going in the right direction. Every sound makes us jump. With every snapping branch or rustling reed I think something, a tribute or a mutt, will emerge to kill me.

The walkways come into view once more. We reach the muddy ground and begin slogging back.

"Lynn?" Dove calls softly, her voice carrying over the sound of the sucking mud. "Eddy, do you think he suffered?"

I think of the drag marks and the knives sunk into his back and leg. The answer is yes. I shake my head, not knowing if she can see through the gloom. "No. Silk has good aim. Would have been quick."

"Thanks."

By the time we clamber onto the platform, I’m shaking from both cold and fear. I just hope the fear part doesn’t show. The trek was most likely too boring to get much air time, just a few cursory pass overs or a dramatic view of some danger nearby, like a shot of the snake in the bushes before Dove nearly stepped on it.

Ajax greets us and asks, "Anything?"

I shake my head and huddle closer to the fire, leaving Dove to answer. "No. Nothing but a pissed off snake that nearly took my foot off."

When I can feel my fingers again, I head into the Cornucopia and grab three of the largest backpacks. The backpacks are already partially packed with some basic supplies, like bed rolls, rations, and empty canteens. I fill the canteens from one of the jugs of fresh water. I fill an extra set of canteens and hide them in the backpacks. I look back to where Ajax and Dove are sitting by the fire and call out, "Hey, Dove, come help me with this. Ajax, warn us when the others come back."

Dove moves slowly, most likely loathe to leaving the warmth of the fire. I motion towards the crates full of food. "Pack some of the lighter things that won’t be missed. I’ll check out the medical supplies."

I want the audience to start guessing at my plan. Keeping them intrigued may just be a key to keeping myself alive.

I take bits and pieces from the various boxes and slip a few things out of the medical kit. If we, or rather the other careers, need the supplies in the next few days, nothing can be obviously missing. Soon, each backpack has three rolls of gauze, needle and thread for stitching, and several packets of antibacterial gel. There is a single jar of burn cream that I’ll have to take at the last minute. I slip in a packet of the weird liquid bandage material into the grey backpack I intend on being mine. I like Ajax and Dove, if I’m not Victor I want it to be one of them, but I still do intend on being the one going home.

Ajax lets out a short whistle and I emerge from the Cornucopia, Dove close at me heels, casually eating a handful of crackers from the food store. That was the crunching noise I heard.

Cassius plops down next to the fire. There are twigs and leaves tangled in his hair. He picks them out, shredding the leaves into tiny pieces that are scattered by a slight breeze. Silk and Eris come into view, their hair also strewn with debris. Tux limps after them, mud splattering his jacket and pants.

When they’re all around the fire, I expect someone to start offering an explanation. Tux and Eris just silently fume, snarls half formed on their lips, glaring back and forth. Silk carefully combs her hair out with her fingers, tossing twigs and leaves into the fire where they pop and snap in the heat. Cassius extends a hand towards Dove and the half empty package of crackers is tossed into the waiting palm. I head back into the Cornucopia, carefully shoving the backpacks to the side as I pass by. Judging by Tux’s limp, his ankle is sprained, maybe even broken, and will need to be wrapped and elevated. The fact he’s been walking on it will only have made the injury that much worse.

I search around for something that can be used for wrapping, settling on some thick gauze, since there’s no scrap canvas from sails like I’m used to using. I head back over to the fire where Tux and Eris are continuing their glaring match. Squatting down by Tux, I gesture at his right leg. "Boot off, let my look at your ankle."

He turns his glare to me. "I’m fine."

I want to argue. He is obviously not fine with the way he limped over here. And no one is saying anything about what happened. But before I open my mouth to tell him what a fool he’s being, I remember that I can’t be kind.

I just leave the bandages next to him and walk back to the mouth of the Cornucopia. I grab my trident and start figuring out what to do about the barbs. If Tux wants to cripple himself, well, that’s just fine by me. One less threat to worry about.

I don’t have any files, or pliers, or anything else that I can use to flatten or remove the barbs. The barbs practically make my trident a one use weapon with the way they hook into an opponent’s flesh. I tell Ajax to get some rest while I take watch. I can think over my barb dilemma while I patrol around.

Slowly, everyone falls asleep, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I take note of where everyone’s positioned their sleeping bags and blankets. Cassius is curled up in a tiny ball closest to the fire. Too close, even. If the brazier tipped over in his direction, the embers would bury him. Eris is sprawled out just pass Cassius, mace close at hand. Silk is closer to the mouth of the Cornucopia, her long black hair well away from the fire. Tux tosses and turns and every time something hits his ankle he lets out a little whimper. Ajax is at the very edge of the camp, a large mass silhouetted by the firelight. And Dove is in the mouth of the Cornucopia, sheltered by the golden metal.

Assuming everyone maintains these positions, the plan will work. I could even tip the brazier over onto Cassius, maybe even catching Eris, depending on how far the embers scatter. Dove can start a fire within the Cornucopia. The multiple starting points for the blaze would create a lot of chaos

I pace around the edge of the platform. My boots make soft thumps against the wood every time I take a step. The air is filled with the sounds of the crackling fire and my movements. Around and around I pace, sometimes moving along the walkways to grab a dried branch to add to the fire. It is too bright this close to the fire to use the night vision glasses so I am left wondering at whatever is making the noises in the dark. Every snapping twig could be another tribute or a mutt or some wild animal. The fire and my presence should keep everything away. And the Gamemakers won’t send mutts after us quite yet, things have only just started.

No solutions present themselves to me about what to do with the barbs. I’ll just have to keep a sword with me, which I should probably do regardless.

It is probably around two or three in the morning when I’ve had enough of the endless pacing. I go over to where Dove lies and nudge her with my foot. She jerks awake, eyes wide and darting around. I kneel down next to her and whisper, "You’re turn for watch."

She calms when she realizes it’s just me. She sits up, rubbing sleep out of her eyes. I wait long enough for her to secure her sword belt before finding a sleeping bag and curling up inside it, grabbing a few of Dove’s blankets to steal her lingering warmth.

The steady sounds of Dove’s boots thumping against the wood and water lapping at the supports of the platform lull me to sleep.

* * *

I'm drowning in orange juice and bile. It fills my nostrils and my mouth and my eyes. I'm blind and my screams only come out in an endless stream of bubbles. Desperately, I try to claw my way to the surface of the fetid mixture but the dead have their hands locked in iron grips around my legs and my waist. They’re pulling me down into the cold and the dark.

* * *

Then it is warm and my legs are full of pins and needles because the blankets I stole from Dove last night are wrapped tightly around the lower half of my body. I open my eyes and blink away the nightmare. I unwrap myself from the coil of blankets, tensing and un-tensing my legs until the prickling sensation goes away. I run my fingers through my hair to undo a few snags.

Dove and Ajax are both awake, sitting on the end of a walkway. I walk over a join them. Ajax hands me a slice of apple. None of us say anything. We just eat, passing an apple back and forth, cutting off slices before handing it off again, and watch the surrounding woods. In the light, the noises are not so intimidating.

The quiet is disturbed by Silk waking up. She yawns loudly and mutters something about her hair. I look over and have to hold back laughter. Her hair is a mess of tangles and it is obvious she didn’t get all of the leaves and twigs out last night. Once she realizes this, the mutters turn into louder complains, mainly bemoaning the fact that the Gamemakers didn’t include a comb in the supplies.

Her continual complains about her hair wake Cassius. He gets up and stumbles into the Cornucopia. I can hear him digging around the packages of food, bags rustling and cans clinking together. He throws something at Silk, hitting her in the leg. It’s a fork. She shouts at him, "Really?"

He shouts back, "Thought you wanted a comb."

The shouting wakes up Eris and Tux. Eris is amused by the whole situation and happily goes to get some breakfast of her own. It is strange seeing her happy about something relatively normal. I know she’s a person too, but it’s easier to just think of her as some monstrous killing machine and this makes that a lot harder.

Tux on the other hand is in a foul mood. The source is obvious with the way he winces and grits his teeth every time he moves his right leg. His injured ankle is no doubt swelling within the boot and there's going to be a lot of pressure on the joint. If he's not careful, blood circulation can get cut off, then his foot will die and start rotting while still attached to the rest of him.

Was he not taught basic first aid, or common sense for that matter, or is he just too proud to reveal the wound around us? I don't get it.

I grab myself a pear and munch quietly as our camp gets ready for the day. 

The sun is visible above the horizon by the time everyone has eaten. Most of the Capitol will still be asleep right now. We all grow restless. Nothing much ever happens on the second day of the games. But it never hurts to try and stir something up.

There’s a wordless consensus started by Eris when she picks up her mace. I thread the short sword’s frog onto my belt before settling the sheathed weapon at my left side. The javelin quiver rests across my back, one of the javelins replaced by my trident. Once we head further, I might carry the trident, but there’s no need to now. I make sure to get one of the larger canteens, fill it with water, and add it to my belt along with a pouch containing some dried meat and fruit. It will give me something to snack on throughout the day.

Cassius brings a pack with some supplies. I keep an eye on the packs I have in the corner. They’re large so no one bothers with them. Silk grabs a small pouch and packs some matches and gauze. I make sure to get some more food and Ajax does the same.

Tux only has a sword and sits by the dying fire in the brazier. His injury volunteers him for guard duty.

We never designated a leader while in training so there’s a pause once we’re all ready. We’re equipped to stay out for the whole day and into the night, returning to the Cornucopia in the morning to catch some sleep, so that leaves us a lot of options. The only places we haven’t seen are to the west and the east. The west is mainly low rolling hills and the east is wetland. I think I’d much rather the west.

Dove is the one that speaks up. "Let’s go to the west. There might be some tributes hiding out there, thinking everyone else would take to the trees."

The same argument could be made for the east, but I for one do not feel like sloshing through the muck, so I don’t point that out. We all agree with her. The westbound walkway takes is to the edge of the bog. From there we hop down to the ground more solid ground. The hills are covered in sedge and low grasses. Any low points are filled with water that still make the ground muddy.

The sun is warm on my back as it rises higher in the sky behind us. The ground levels the further we travel and some of the grasses get higher, some reaching my shoulder. Eris and Ajax, being the tallest of us all, actually walk in the grass. Silk has gone to scout ahead. Dove and I have stuck closer together, checking any of the rocky outcroppings that might be hiding another tribute. Cassius is theoretically guarding the rear, but frequently disappears.

I expect a knife in the back from him. He was trying to injure us or interfere with training back at the center. 

Dove goes off to investigate a shallow cave that Silk found with some footprints around it. Then, like an apparition, Cassius appears beside me and whispers, "Want to know what happened last night?"

I have to fight the instinct to draw my sword at his sudden appearance. I don’t get how he’s able to sneak around like he does. He’s a few inches taller than I am and probably weights ten or fifteen pounds more, but he is as silent as a shadow. I just nod, glad that he’s willing to talk.

He’s inches away from me and the closeness is uncomfortable. He keeps his voice low, conspiratorial, like he’s not really supposed to be saying this and I’m lucky to hear it. "So, we walked for around two hours before we came to a spring. It was surrounded by some rocks and bushes and low hanging trees. Nice spot to rest for a bit. There were boot prints in the mud so it was obvious that someone had been there before us."

I can see him smiling out of the corner of my eye. His teeth are too white, like Capitol citizens’ teeth, or shark teeth.

"I was checking prints, trying to figure out which way the tribute might have gone, and I see a lot of circling back, like they had been walking around the bushes a lot. And then there’s a snap and a shout. All of a sudden, Tux is dangling midair by one foot. Someone set up a snare and he got caught. I had to cut him down."

That would explain the injury to the ankle. The reluctance to talk about it is rather understandable as well, considering just how embarrassing that is. I ask, "What kind of rope was used?"

"I don’t know." Cassius shrugs. "It was rope."

Useless. Cassius goes off to do whatever he’s been doing.

Knowing the kind of rope would give me an idea what supplies are available to the tribute that set up the trap. Synthetic rope or mechanically woven would indicate it was gotten from Cornucopia supplies. Hand woven would give indication of some weaving skills, which would narrow it down to the boy from 10, or either tribute from 8.

Odds are this is the work of Tweed. Based on that assumption, he’s set herself up in the south. Any resources he’s been near will most likely be trapped at this point and his camp, however temporary, will be likewise guarded, as long as he has supplies to make snares. I don’t want to go south anymore. Not when he’s established himself so well. With the snares, he can capture birds and rabbits and things like that for food. And there’s plenty of fresh water with the spring.

This is a problem. If it came down to it, I assumed I could wait him out. Camp by a stream or pond and fish until he starved to death. But we’d both be waiting a long time if it came down to that and the Gamemakers wouldn’t allow something that boring.

It’s hot and I’m constantly on edge because I can’t make much of anything through the grass. There could be any number of things hidden in the grass. I already know there’s snakes out here. With the temperature as high as it is, I’m worried we didn’t bring enough water with us.

Eris tripping over something is the most eventful thing that happens for a while.

A flash of silver appears in the sky. A parachute carrying a basket drifts down and we run towards it. Ajax catches it and rips it open. Inside is lunch. We're all grabbing at the bottle of cold water and fresh fruit and sandwiches of cold-cut meat. There is no peaceful handing out of the provisions, no politely handing out equal shares.

For a moment, both Eris and I attempt to take the basket form Ajax at the same time. It is held between us and we stare each other down. An unspoken growl passes between us. The tension is broken by Cassius snatching a sandwich.

Once the basket is empty, a circle in the grass is tamped down and we all sit in a loose semi-circle. I'm between Ajax and Dove.

Everyone sets their food on their laps. Career picnics are as much about showing dominance as about actually getting to eat. Eris has the most food, having three apples and two sandwiches. Then she makes the mistake of looking away for a moment and Cassius snatches an apple and bites into it before she can take it back.

I notice Dove only has a single sandwich and consider giving her one of my apples. Showing that degree of kindness would just be interpreted as weakness right now. So I don't, even if I feel a bit guilty about it.

The sun starts to sink lower in the horizon and it is time to make another decision. We all gather together under a rocky overhang. I speak up first this time, "We can either turn south or head back north into the woods."

Eris speaks next. "Let’s head to the woods. Most of the other tributes will be out there."

Silk agrees and so does Dove and soon we’re all spreading out again. The tree line is in sight when the sun dips below the horizon. The anthem begins and we don’t even pause. There will be no faces and so we do not care. The third day has begun. I think this one will turn out to be more interesting.


	10. Chapter 10

**Day 3**

**Lynn Rayna**  
**District 4, Female Tribute**

I can hear the sound of rushing water. I draw a javelin. Water might have drawn some tributes to it.

A wild shout of, "Got one!" pierces the silence, followed by a cry of terror. I start sprinting in the direction of the noise. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Ajax running alongside me. I understand why they call the alliances of the career tributes the pack. I don’t quite feel like myself as I burst through the tree line and see Dove chasing down a fleeing tribute. We’re predators hunting down our prey. We move as one, fanning out to trap the fleeing figure.

I run along the rocky shore of the river. The moon seems to get brighter the closer we get. The Gamemakers don’t want anyone to miss this.

The tribute loses their footing and goes sprawling. A triumphant cheer rises out of my throat and joins the chorus of the others' cheers.

The pack circles in. It’s the boy from 10. He has a small backpack slung over one shoulder and no visible weapons. Easy prey. Dove saw him first so the kill belongs to her. That’s the unspoken rule of the pack, unless someone with a ranged weapon gets in the first hit.

The boy from 10 tries to scramble back towards the river in a desperate attempt to get away. I side step and block him. Giving him a swift kick to the side, I force him back into the circle. Dove steps into the circle with him and the circle shifts to enclose both of them. Tears are streaming down the boy’s face. But he’s not begging so he retains some measure of dignity.

Dove draws a short sword with her left hand. Her movements are methodical, plunging the blade into the boy’s chest. The silent crying turns into sobbing and whimpering and at last the begging. Pulling the bloody weapon back out, Dove motions down river. "There might be more down there. Let’s go before the cannon tips them off."

The dying boy confirms this by yelling, "No! Mary, run!"

We take off down river, back into the woods. I stick to the bank so I can have a clear shot with my javelin. I recognize the name the boy still shouts. Mary’s the twelve year old from District 12. Her partner promised to protect her so he’ll be with her, too.

The cannon goes off and we can hear faint shouting in the distance. We run faster, weapons at the ready and blood singing in our veins. In the far distance, past sprays of water, I can make out someone crossing the river, carrying another on their back. Jet and Mary. And another standing on the bank. The figure on the bank turns, freezes when they spot us, then runs into the woods. The river is treacherous so I veer in the direction I saw the other tribute flee.

We’re whooping and cheering with the thrill of the hunt. The trees become thicker the deeper into the woods we go. The tribute disappears from view. Undergrowth grabs at my boots and I’m forced to slow my pace. The pack mentality starts to diffuse as we can no longer see our prey and our easy formation turns into chaos.

I slow down to a jog and sheath my javelin since it’s no use in the thick woods. Ajax falls into step beside me and asks, "Did you see where she went?"

I shake my head and ask, "Should we try and cross the river? That had to the pair from 12."

"Do we have enough supplies to last out there?"

Probably not. We all regroup in a small clearing. The ground has been disturbed. There are four flattened patches of grass and some snapped twigs. This must have been where the other tributes were making camp.

Eris grins and announces, "Well, that was fun."

There’s a collective mummer of agreement. She’s not wrong. By Aries, she’s not wrong. There is always a thrill to hunting and the pack and prey make the sensation downright intoxicating. I hate myself for that.

The sky has darkened as a veil of clouds covers the moon. Cassius riffles through his backpack and comes up empty. He forgot to pack the night vision glasses. All we have are some torches and no one feels like walking through the trees holding a burning hunk of wood and oil soaked cloth. Sometimes the Gamemakers include electric flashlights, but they haven’t recently. Rin Glass from District 3 won the 83rd Games by making a cattle prod like device with flashlight batteries. She shocked and drowned or strangled her opponents. Clever, but ultimately boring the Capitol audience. Not enough blood.

Everyone grabs some dry branches and piles them in the center of the clearing. Silk pulls out the matches, at least she remembered to bring what she was supposed to, and we get a fire going. 

A flash of silver glints through the trees. A parachute drifts down in front of Dove. It looks like the sponsors took note of her kill. She's established herself well in the pack, making up for her lack of aggression at lunch. We all crowd around her, wanting to see what the gift is. She twists open the container to reveal the contents. It’s full of marshmallows, the fancy square kind, like the ones Min’s parents made for special occasions.

Dove does not have to share. The parachute is hers. But for a moment everything is silent except for the sound of the crackling fire. She glances around at us.

She smiles and shakes her head in exasperation. "There’s plenty to go around."

The three dozen marshmallows are quickly divided up. There’s different flavors and I manage to get at least one of each. We roast the marshmallows on sticks over the fire. I like the chocolate ones the best and Dove likes the vanilla so we trade. Eris and Cassius squabble over the last caramel one. Silk eats all of the strawberry ones since no one else likes them. They don’t taste like actual strawberries so I don’t know why she likes them.

In the end, we’re all happy and riding on a sugar high. We pack up our things and light the torches. I put out the fire with a few handfuls of dirt. No need to give the Gamemakers an excuse to start a forest fire. We fan out again, moving at a slow jog. The tribute that fled form us will most likely be hungry and frightened and exhausted. I doubt she will make it far.

The sugar high fades after about an hour and the torches grow heavy in our hands. Our focus becomes less on tracking down the tribute and more on simply getting back to the Cornucopia.

The forest floor is firm, unlike the muck surrounding the Cornucopia. It comes as a relief when the ground starts to get sticker. It makes walking slower but the end is nearly in sight.

Judging by the position of the moon, it is around five in the morning when we finally get back to the Cornucopia. The sun will be rising soon. Cassius has to stay up to keep watch since he forgot the night vision glasses.

I shrug off my quiver, slide my short sword and its sheath out of the frog, and wriggle into my sleeping bag. I cover myself with a couple blankets, tossing one to Dove, since I did steal them from her the night before. Curling up for warmth and with my hand resting on the knife at my hip, it does not take long before I am dreaming.

* * *

There’s blood in the water and the sharks are in a frenzy. They tear at each other. Each bite leaves a gaping hole and soon the water is so thick with blood I can’t see anything anymore.

Breaching the surface, I can see again. I gasp for breath and my nose is filled with the scent of chum. The scent of orange juice begins to seep in. Dread coils in my gut.

* * *

Something touches me and I crack my eyes open. My hand goes straight to the knife still sheathed at my belt. It’s Cassius, nudging me with his foot. I guess I’m being volunteered for the second watch. I sit up, brush my hair out of my eyes, and grab my short sword. Cassius goes to his place beside the fire. I step over Tux, who now has his boot off and his ankle properly wrapped and elevated with a spare bedroll.

The sun is beginning to rise over the wetlands.

I pace around, going up and down the walkways. Suddenly, small flock of birds take to the air in a chorus of startled cries. I draw my sword and drop to a crouch. There is no sign of what could have startled the birds and that worries me. I debate between searching myself and waking someone else up. Silk is the closest one to me. I grab a fallen acorn and throw it at her. It hits her in the chest and startles her awake.

I ignore the glare she sends my way and motion for her to join me. Dagger drawn, she joins me on the walkway. I keep my voice low, "Something startled the birds. Let’s go see what."

She nods and draws another knife from somewhere on her person. I’m willing to bet she has at least half a dozen on her. We drop to the ground below, the soft earth muffling the sounds of our landings. Silk and I move together but it not the easy synchronizing I find with Ajax or within the fury of the pack.

The thick cover of the trees obscures everything. I hope to see a human figure somewhere in the undergrowth. The alternative would be the twisted figure of a mutt and near certain death.

A twig snaps and Silk sends a knife spinning though the air. It is followed by a scream of very human pain. The undergrowth thrashes with death throws. I creep close enough to try to identify who is dying. It isn’t the girl from the river like I expected. This is the girl from 6. She cries. I can’t stand it when they cry like that. It must hurt to die, which makes sense. Silk finishes her off with a knife slash to the throat. The girl goes still and silent, her death signaled by a cannon shot.

I turn to Silk and comment, "Good throw."

I catch her smile through the gloom. "Thanks."

We head back to the walkways. I haul myself up with ease. Silk has a bit more trouble. I look down at her and ask, "Need a hand, shorty?"

It is very rare that I get to call someone shorty. The firelight from the brazier illuminates her glare perfectly. She still takes my offered hand and I help her onto the walkway. We head back to the Cornucopia where the others are all awake. Ajax it the first to greet us, sword at the ready. I just motion in Silk’s direction and she proudly announces, "Got another one. Twelve down."

I pat Ajax on the arm and say, "You go on watch. I’m going to get another hour of sleep."

Things settle back down without too much fuss. I lay down in my pile of sleeping bag and blankets. Dove scoots a little closer to me and whispers, "Still planning a bonfire tonight?"

It takes me a moment to figure out what she’s talking about. It’s a lot easier to understand code when you’re the one making it up. These wooden walkways will be ash by the time we’re done with them. I stretch and nod as I’m doing so. "A big one."

Rather than sleep, I can only manage to doze. At least there aren’t any dreams. After around an hour, Eris is up and making enough of a ruckus that relaxing is next to impossible. I sit up and can see a trio of silver parachutes floating down to the Cornucopia. These are larger than the one that brought Dove’s marshmallows.

I shake Dove awake. Ajax, Silk, and Eris catch the parachutes. Who exactly they’re intended for is unclear and does not particularly matter. Opening the large boxes reveals a breakfast spread like the ones back in the training center. We happily devour the hot, fresh food. After all the canned and dried foods, the scrambled eggs and fresh rolls taste amazing.

After the hearty breakfast, we lounge around for a bit. No one feels like doing much. Noon passes with a light lunch and an attempt at fishing on the part of Ajax and myself.

Doing nothing gets boring. It is a weird balance between keeping things interesting or risking moving too fast and getting stopped by the Gammakers. We split into pairs and go on short patrols but no one feels like going too far from the camp. I stick with Ajax, Eris and Cassius are together, which leaves Silk and Dove to pair up while Tux remains at camp.

Ajax starts down the walkway to the east. I follow, finding myself less than thrilled at the prospect of wading through the inevitable muck. The walkway has a few steps down to the boggy ground below. Ajax tramples the first patch of cattails and I follow in his wake. I carry my trident with me, using the butt to prod the ground in front of me to find the more solid pieces to walk on rather than just plunging ahead like Ajax seems happy to do.

There is a stand of trees ahead that appears to be Ajax’s destination. The trailing willow branches conceal the interior. Ajax slows once we get close and I prod the leaves aside with my trident. Nothing stirs in the trees so we duck inside the green curtain. Safe from prying eyes, excluding the Game makers and audience, Ajax asks, "Are you sure about the plan?"

Translated into he’s not sure about the plan and needs more convincing. This conversation is not worth the muck. I shrug, honestly. "It’s better than fighting in the melee. Which way do you think we should run, once things get going?"

"This way, I guess. A bit more to the north, though. The ground should be more solid towards the woods." He sounds like he’s convincing himself.

I go into pep talk mode again. "Look, the plan will work. We have the time to scout the escape route a bit which means that we’ll know where we’re going while the others stumble in the dark."

He huffs and it is my turn to lead our way through the muck while Ajax trails behind me. This is the way the day passes. I try to be upbeat and optimistic while Ajax is moody and riddled with doubts. Being the optimistic one is hard work. I really don’t like it. But both of us sulking would be truly miserable.

The ground is firmer towards the north and the downslope of the whole eastern half of the arena is more evident. It explains the why the ground is soaked. At the very end of the cliff, I can see a waterfall, the end of the river up north. Escape route observed, I waste no time in heading straight back to the Cornucopia.


	11. Chapter 11

**Day 4**

**Lynn Rayna**  
**District 4, Female Tribute**

Mentally, I go over the supplies that have been packed and what else I might need to grab before the Cornucopia goes up in smoke. Weapons, packed separately, all in good condition. The spear will be left behind in favor of my trident, annoying as the barbs are. I'm more comfortable with the trident and it fits my image better, making me more iconic for sponsors to focus on. A sleeping bag is already with backpack, blankets might be good to bring along. Food and water are packed. Medical supplies can still be grabbed. There’s a large kit that I might be able to cram into my backpack once the others are asleep. We should take the night vision glasses too, which would make it easier for us to see and harder for our inevitable pursuers to do so.

The beginning of the anthem interrupts my train of thought. The first portrait to appear is the girl from District 6. The second is the boy from District 10, Dove’s kill by the river.

With the anthem over, it takes almost an hour for the others to fall asleep.

The fourth day begins, and with it my plan.

I slip out of my blanket nest and head into the Cornucopia. I grab the medicine kit and cram it into my backpack. I pocket one of the pairs of night vision glasses. Dove joins me and I hand her the other night vision glasses. I have my backpack and the quiver for my trident and javelins which leaves Dove with her backpack and Ajax’s. We work quickly to pile a bunch of blankets near the packets of dried food. Dove strikes a match and holds it up to a blanket. It lights with a satisfying little whoosh.

I take a few steps back but linger long enough to watch the wood of the platform catch on fire. Dove has already joined Ajax on the eastern walkway. The fire starts to audibly crackle behind me. The scent of smoke strengthens, coming from the burning supplies and the brazier now. I creep past the sprawled form of Cassius.

Something bursts inside the Cornucopia with a loud pop and echoing clang as metal strikes metal. A can or something burst from the heat. That was not supposed to happen this quickly.

The others are all sitting up and looking around in confusion at the sound. Eris is still between me and the eastern walkway. Her mace is in hand.

I make a run for it. Sleepy murmurs of confusion turn to shouts of alarm. As I run, I fish the night vision glasses out of my pocket and slip them on.

Shouts turn to swears and two, maybe three, pairs of boots chase after us. I catch up with Ajax and Dove easily enough but my strength is in sprinting, not distance running. My blood sings in my ears and all I can focus on is the end of the walkway. Something glints in my peripheral vision and a throwing knife is embedded in Ajax’s backpack.

Silk has excellent aim but she needs to be able to see to hit us. We’re almost at the end of the walkway and the cover of darkness. I swear the moon gets brighter in the sky just as it did by the river.

Pain lances through my body and I stumble. If I looked, I know I would see a throwing knife in the upper part of my left arm, in the meaty part below the shoulder. I tuck my arms closer to me and leap down the steps after Ajax and Dove.

My legs are burning with excursion, especially with the heavy pack on my back that I did not think about weighing so much earlier. It starts to get cold very quickly. My throat and lungs sting from inhaling the frigid air. The Gamemakers are toying with us.

Frost forms on the vegetation and thin sheets of ice form over the pools of water, only to snap with each footfall. The mud hardens with the cold and it makes running easier. It is a proper chase now, rather than frantic stumbling through the muck.

Even with the bright moon and night vision glasses, it is a terrifying run. Things look different in the darkness. Everything becomes more sinister in the unclear gloom. If the Gamemakers wanted, they could add mutts to the mix.

The cliff the northern forest grows upon rises to my left. The downhill decent gets steeper. My footing betrays me and I slip. I try to catch myself but my left arm cannot support my weight, naturally, and instead I tuck myself into a roll and spring back to my feet.

Pain lances through my arm again and I'm pretty sure I just made the wound worse.

Ajax and Dove are ahead of me, nearing the rock strewn area next to the cliff. Ajax has stopped and looks back at me. I shout, "Keep going!"

The shouts coming from our pursuers are more distant and the moon does not seem quite as bright now. I can hear the waterfall before seeing it. Just a little further. I can make it.

Ajax appears at my side and I do not hesitate in leaning on him, refusing the slow my pace though. He has to trouble keeping pace with me. Dove’s voice rises above the rush of the waterfall. "Back here. There’s a cave."

The plunge under the waterfall is bone-chilling and the cave behind it is damp. No longer distracted by running, the knife wound starts hurting even more. My hand feels sticky and I do not even have to look to know it is covered in blood that ran down my arm. I loosen the straps of my backpack and ask Ajax, "Can you help me get this off?"

He grabs the backpack and opens his mouth to most likely ask why I need the help. Then he notices the knife and states, "That's bad."

I get my left arm out from the strap without hitting the knife. I walk over to the waterfall and stick my arm in the pool of water below it. The cold numbs the wound. My jacket and shirt are soaked but the water should clean some of the blood off. I grasp the hilt knife and say, "The medicine kit is in my pack."

The knife does not come out of my arm easily. The part near the hilt is serrated and catches on my jacket on the way out, causing the blade to twist in my arm. There is a lot of screaming and some swearing and I am going to kill Silk, and there’s some crying through gritted teeth while Dove comes over to help me pull it out while Ajax starts tearing through the medicine kit looking for something that will prevent me from bleeding out.

Once the knife it out, my jacket comes off next. I think it is even more painful than getting the knife out. Every movement of my arm makes the leather brush against the wound. Blood makes the leather stick to my skin and peeling it away just adds to the pain.

I understand why they cry now. I’m not even dying and I’m crying through clenched teeth and white knuckled fists because it hurts so much.

Ajax stitches my wound shut with deft strokes and perfect knots then slathers it with antibacterial cream and wraps it in gauze. It might be too much or not enough but none of us know enough about medicine to tell the difference. As long as Luke doesn't send a message to stop, we can continue with this method without too much worry.

Dove washes my jacket off in the pool of water and lays it on a rock in a not very effective attempt at drying it. We sit in a little huddle as the temperature remains bone-chilling and the damp only makes us shiver more. It’s rather nice being wedged between Ajax and Dove. I wipe the tears from my face with the back of my hand. Regaining my composure is reassuring. We’re all alive. I’m injured but unless there’s an infection, I’ll be fine. My voice comes out hoarse when I say, "We need to keep moving."

Ajax nods once. "Somewhere drier. We might find something further along the cliff."

Dove hands me my jacket and suggests, "We can go slow, try not to draw too much attention if they try to look for us again."

I shrug on my jacket, not even bothering to get my left arm back into the tattered sleeve. My backpack is a little more difficult and Ajax winds up taking the medicine kit and stuffs it in his own pack.

We set out into the night, pausing only to look back at the orange blaze gracing the horizon. That is the vision of victory. We continue along the path of the cliff. The air seems to warm again and the snap of ice under boots becomes less frequent.

* * *

We only stop to make camp in the morning. There’s a thick stand of trees near some large boulders. We set up our bedrolls and blankets in the shadow of the rocks, which will provide some shelter at least. I stay back at our camp, unwrapping the gauze to inspect my wound while Dove and Ajax go out the check the area is completely clear.

The wound hurts but of course it does. The stitches have held up. Ajax's knotting skills extend to thread, fortunately. The edges of the wound are all red and puffy. Infection or just because it was wet for too long? There’s no red lines going up my arm, so I don’t have blood poisoning.

I leave the wound uncovered to dry out some. I'll put more anti-bacterial cream on it later, depending on how the redness fades or not.

Ajax and Dove return in a manner of minutes. All is clear. We sit together on top of our blankets and bedrolls. I look back and forth between them and can't help but start smiling. "We did it."

Dove starts laughing. "We did. It went up in smoke."

We all are laughing. It's so funny it hurts. No, wait, that's just the knife wound. But it still is funny. That crazy plan worked.

We’ve destroyed the other pack members' supplies and ruined their shelter. Sure, they’ll be trying to hunt us down, but they will be growing weaker while we maintain our strength.

Something above us catches my attention. Something silver.

A parachute drifts down through a little gap in the branches of the trees. It carries a large basket. The basket lands on the ground between us. It’s like one of the ones that brought breakfast to the Cornucopia.

Ajax opens the basket. The scent that wafts up from within is ambrosial. There’s fresh bread and little jars of jam, and kippers, and some kind of warm cereal, oatmeal according to Dove. None of us hesitate in diving into the hot breakfast. As we eat, we sort through the other contents within the basket. There’s a little electric camp stove. We can have warmth without fire.

The breakfast is the best food we’ve had since entering the arena. We have a bit of bread and some jars of jam left when we’re finished. The bread will go stale quickly, so it will have to be finished off for lunch, but the jam should keep well in the sealed jars.

We wind up talking about home. Largely due to how weirded out Dove was by the fact Ajax and I enjoyed the kippers. We talk about our favorite food. I tell Dove about Min and her parent’s sweet shop and my love of saltwater taffy. Ajax loves apples, which is something I realize I had no idea about. I’ve known him for eight years and I know more about his fighting ability than anything personal about him. Dove loves raspberries, which explains why there’s three empty raspberry jam jars next to her.

A cannon shot goes off. Hearing the sound is blood curdling when you’re not part of the group doing the killing. I draw my knife and jump to my feet. Ajax and Dove are right beside me, swords drawn and at the ready. We’re all looking around, trying to guess at where that could have come from. I climb up the boulders, ignoring the twinges of pain from my arm. With a better vantage point, I try to pinpoint where the hovercraft might be descending to pick up the body.

A hovercraft materializes far off to the west, where the air is still hazy with smoke from the Cornucopia fire. It’s probably one of the others that just died.

I call down to Ajax and Dove, "It’s by the Cornucopia."

The hovercraft disappears. It is too distant to identify the corpse. Another body will be put into a coffin and shipped back home. We come to the Capitol by train and we leave the Capitol by train. Just sitting in different places.

This death is different than the others. I probably knew whoever died this time if it’s one of the others from the pack. Tux, maybe Cassius, hopefully Eris or Silk. But probably Tux. He wouldn't have been able to run.

We all wait in silence, anticipating another cannon shot. If any of them got badly burned or they fought over the remaining resources, the wounds might prove fatal. It never comes.

I join Ajax and Dove on the ground. Dove breaks the silence, "Since we have the night vision glasses, we should take advantage of that. Sleep during the day and head out at night."

Ajax nods. "Makes sense. I can take first watch."

I shake my head at that. "Let me do it. Arm hurts too much to sleep anyways. I’ll wake you about noon."

He doesn’t protest, instead grabbing his bedroll and finding a flattish spot to lay down on.

I grab my trident and look for a vantage point. The trees are all a bit too awkward to climb with my arm, so I head up the boulder pile again. Dove’s voice drifts up to me, "Who do you think it was?"

"Tux. Couldn’t run, got burned."

There’s the sound of boots scrabbling against stone and Dove makes her way up to me. I scoot over a bit and she sits next to me. Her voice is quiet, distant in a way. "Can’t sleep."

"Nightmares?" It’s as much as statement as it is a question. An explanation of our mutual insomnia.

"Yeah."

"Me too."

Ajax slumbers peacefully below us. Only one dead soul haunts him. Dove and I have two each. I wonder how many more we’ll all get by the end of this. I might wind up haunting one of them or one of them may end up haunting me.

Dove and I sit there on top of the boulders, side by side as the sun climbs higher into the sky.

I drum my feet against the side of the boulder, trying to get some feeling back in my legs. Dove still sits beside me, not fidgeting like I am. Her capacity for utter stillness is impressive. I can be still; I just hate it unless I’m concentrating on something. I have nothing to concentrate on other than the fact my arm hurts.

Different kinds of birds have been chirping as the morning has turned into day. I sometimes hear Dove whispering what kinds they are. Killdeer and Marsh Wren and Osprey and Cardinal.

The near silence becomes as detestable as the stillness so I ask, "What did you do, back in your District?"

Dove gives a little start and I grab the back of her jacket to prevent her from sliding off her perch. Once she’s secure, I let go and she replies, "Surveyed areas for new solar panel and wind farms. Lots of calculating slope and factoring in soil types. Not that useful out here. What did you do?"

"Helped out on my parents’ boat. Casting the lines and hauling them back in. And I hunted sharks. Significantly more useful out here."

That is the nature of District 4's status as a Career District. Training is just learning how to hunt better for the most part. Sure, we have sparing matches and a mock arena, but for the most part we just fish.

I earn a little laugh from Dove. That sound is worth more than every one of the audience’s laughs during my interview.

After a pause Dove turns more serious and asks, "How’s your arm?"

I pull back the loose side of my jacket to show her the wound. The stitches are holding but the edges have remained red and puffy. "Okay. Only hurts when I move."

Dove knits her brows in concentration, inspecting the wound. She holds the back of her hand up to my arm. Her brow furrows even more. "It’s warm. I think that means there’s an infection."

She turns and slides down the boulders down to the ground below. I call down to her, softly so I don’t wake Ajax. "In the front pocket of my pack I have a tube of that liquid bandage stuff. We can see if that will work."

She gets the antibacterial cream from the med kit, a canteen of water, and finds the liquid bandage tube. Dove shoves the medical supplies in a jacket pocket and climbs back up the rocks. She’s not the most graceful climber I’ve ever seen, but she makes it up without the need for assistance, which is more than sufficient.

There are instructions for the liquid bandage. Clean the wound, make sure it’s free of debris, crack the tube, mix contents, and apply.

I use my knife to cut the stitches so the liquid bandage can be applied. Dove’s right, it does feel warm. The wound opens up again and oozes blood. Seeing it in the light, it looks pretty bad. It’s around an inch deep and nearly three times as long, the edges jagged. There’s no bone visible. I’ve had worse cuts, gashed my leg open on a rock once, and got bit by a shark pup another time, but I had an actual doctor available. And morphling for the pain.

Dove cleans the wound with water from the canteen. I grit my teeth and ball my right hand into a white knuckled fist. I hear the crack of the tube being snapped and watch Dove shake it to mix the contents together.

She squeezes the pinkish goo onto the wound. I’m pretty sure that hurts more than being stabbed in the first place. A hiss of pain escapes from between my clenched teeth. Dove smooths down the liquid, making it flush with the skin on my arm. This stuff better work.

When Dove is finished, my jaw aches from being clenched for so long. I thank her, but it's really hard to mean it. It's nearly noon, so my watch is over. I slide down the boulder and nudge Ajax.

He jolts awake. I let him take a moment to re-orientate himself before saying, "It's noon. Your watch."

He grunts in acknowledgment. I get my own bed roll and steal his flattish spot. Settling down, I can hear Dove and Ajax talking above me.

The liquid bandage feels weird. It’s bubbling in my arm. The worst of the pain fades quickly. I’m not bleeding and the liquid bandage isn’t as uncomfortable as the stitches, and I don’t have to worry about popping it like the stitches either.

I fall asleep to a conversation about swords.


	12. Chapter 12

**Day 5**

**Lynn Rayna**  
**District 4, Female Tribute**

The sound of the anthem wakes me. I prop myself up on the nearest boulder and wait for the tribute portrait to appear.

Tux's portrait floats in the sky. I was right. If only it had been Eris. At least it was a pack member.

We're down to eleven now. Five career Districts, six outer Districts, though Dove probably counts more towards the career side. At times like this there is not classification of inner, mid, and outer Districts, it is just career and everyone else with a few rare exceptions. The career title is different in 4, though, when the skills we learn so easily apply to our District's actual industry. If I had not volunteered, I would have most likely continued to hunt sharks around the resort for the rest of my life and train some of the careers that came by, like Moray does.

We have to put the night vision glasses on to pack our things. Dove packs her bedroll so that means she got some rest.

Dove is the one who figures out how to work the electric camp stove so we have freshly toasted bread with some of the remaining jam. I don’t get Dove’s obsession with raspberry. Strawberry jam is so much better.

My arm doesn't hurt at all anymore so the liquid bandage stuff worked. I can actually put my jacket on properly again and don't have any more trouble with my pack.

We make the arbitrary decision to keep moving roughly eastward, following the continual downward slope of landscape. There's virtually no chance we'll be encountering any other tributes out here. The other pack members might still be pursuing us but they'll be slowed down by the lack of supplies. Tweed went south based on the trap that injured Tux. His District partner, forget her name, could be out here, but unlikely. The tributes from 12 are somewhere up in the forest to the north. The other tribute from the river camp, the girl from 11, I think, is probably still up in the forest, could be west, but doesn't matter that much.

The wetlands are not easy to navigate, nor particularly pleasant to either. The mud constantly sucks at our boots and we are splattered with murky water with every step. I quickly learn to not follow too closely in Ajax's wake unless I want an impromptu shower.

Plodding through the endless wetlands proves to be rather boring. Some night birds call to each other and the occasional frog hops out of our way. The dullness makes me nervous. The audience doesn't like dull. If things get dull, the Gamemakers make them interesting again. I keep my trident at the ready in case of mutts.

It's only day five, so mutts are unlikely. Environmental hazards are more common at this stage if the Gamemakers take action. Flooding or sinkhole for a place like this. Flooding would take out Dove, I don't think she knows how to swim. It would leave me and Ajax. If they want her out that's what they'd do. Sinkhole would be random. Or whoever they targeted, if I'm being honest with myself. The target would likely be me with how I've disrupted a once reliable pattern to an unknown reaction.

Dove saying something pulls me from my thoughts. "My canteens are getting low. We should find a stream."

My largest canteen is halfway empty and the smaller one is still full. Topping up the larger one would be a good idea.

Finding a stream is a rather simple matter of continuing downhill. After around five minutes of walking, we can hear a stream, and a minute after that, it's right in front of us. 

I kneel down on the bank and am hit by the scent of decay. Something has tainted the water. A faint sense of worry claws its way into my mind. The only thing we have a really limited supply of is water. We have plenty of food and medical supplies. It’s just water we can’t carry that much of.

I try to remain optimistic. "Let's keep looking. We'll find another stream or pond."

It takes about ten minutes to find a pond. Ajax checks and shakes his head. We keep the stream to our left on the off-chance we'll move far enough down it to get clear of the source of the taint. Going up stream could mean finding the source of the taint and whatever left it. There is nothing dead in the water that I can see, no fish or frogs or birds.

Two hours and five ponds later, it is clear that all the water in this area has something wrong with it. Sometimes it smells clearly of rot, but other times it smells bitter or sour or even metallic. In the cool temperatures we have enough water to last us all another day and a half at most since we won't be sweating out too much of it. We can get water from sponsors, but that has its limits.

We stop to rest in a stand of trees. I set my pack down and lean against the trunk of a willow. Running my hand along the thin branches, I can feel the leaves crumble at my touch. The water must be affecting the trees here. The tress are not dead but dying, same with some of the surrounding plants now I'm paying attention to it, so the bad water has to be recent or else the whole area would be already dead.

Dove suggests, "Maybe it's just in the valley. Let's try going back up hill." She sounds nervous and I don't blame her.

If it came down to it, I'd kill her and take her supplies. I'd hate myself for doing it but living would be worth the self-loathing. With Ajax and I being District partners, she can't really do the same to either of us.

I agree with her and add, "We can even start going more towards south. Tweed is probably still out there."

Ajax frowns a bit. "We just have to be careful going after Tweed. We still don't know how he got that eleven but it might have something to do with the kind of trap he caught Tux with."

I'd like to think I'm not stupid enough to step on a snare, but Ajax has a point. "What if we approached closer to dawn when we go after him? That way we can see clearly and he might still be asleep, or at least not as alert."

The frown remains. "We'll see once we get there."

Good enough. I stand and sling my pack back over my shoulders.

We set off, going uphill this time. Uphill is a lot more tiring than downhill. Uphill is slippery and somehow there is mud even on my shoulder at this point, which really shouldn't be possible but somehow is. The tainted water better be just confined to the valley.

It takes a good half hour to get out of the valley and onto what turns out to be the top of a hill, given the sweeping view before us. And just like that it starts to rain. At least we have water now.

I take my jacket off and lay it down on the ground, letting the water pool in the center. We take turns refilling our canteens from my impromptu water collector. Soon we all have canteens full of fresh water and I'm soaking wet. 

By the time I finish strapping my canteen back to my pack, the rain has stopped. We all look up at the cloudless sky above us. The Gamemakers normally aren't that blatant about things. They must really want us to go in this direction if they both drive us away from the valley and reward us for going up the hill.

We might just be on a collision course with Eris, Cassius, and Silk. They will be sticking together, maintaining the pack. Especially with our own alliance being such a threat to them. Splitting would let us outnumber them. 

The three of us just look at each other, all having reached the same conclusion. What can we do?

I sling my dripping wet jacket over a shoulder and ask, "Should we still head south?"

Dove nods and Ajax shrugs. He sounds defeated, "Sure."

So we head south.

* * *

It is midmorning when we stop to take a rest under the cover of a lone willow tree bent double over a pool of clean water.

The Gamemakers being so blatant about their control over us is depressing. Particularly when the end goal is to set us against the other careers.

Chewing on a strip of dried meat, I fiddle with my bracelet. I run my fingers along the familiar path of the chain, lingering on each type of fastener that links the baubles to the main chain. I linger on the newest loop of wire that attaches the pewter owl. I'm supposed to be clever but how clever am I, really?

Ajax must have noticed my fidgeting and asks, "Any ideas?"

No. I don't have any ideas. I had the better part of a year to plan burning the Cornucopia. I went over different ways it could go wrong and different reasons to do it sooner or later than the third night mark. So sure, I'm clever, given enough time to think about it and enough people to bounce ideas off of. Time to start bouncing ideas then. "Find a more secure spot than this, try to catch a few hours of sleep, then keep moving."

No ideas come bouncing back. Ajax and Dove just nod and agree with me. It appears I'm the leader of our trio. It makes sense, of course. My plan, my alliance, so I'm leader. It adds an extra weight. I'm responsible for them.

From what I can tell of the geography of this part of the arena, it’s roughly bowl shaped. The west lip boarders the Cornucopia and the bog around it. The flat part between the two is covered in reeds and the ground is particularly unstable. The north part of the lip forms a valley with the cliff, which is where I took my slide down the slope. The tainted area lies beyond the east lip.

Right now we’re in the bowl. Or along the inner curve. Something like that. The ground alternates between little hills and spongy ground and the whole area is riddled with ponds and streams and stands of trees everywhere.

The further south we head, the ground becomes rockier and more solid, which makes traveling a lot easier.

Ajax spots a stand of trees near a tumble of rocks, rather like the one we camped in after the Cornucopia fire.

We make an initial sweep and only find some spiders in the rocks. They are all promptly squished with extreme prejudice. If we are bitten, we would not be the first tributes killed by spiders in the Hunger Games. Besides, spiders are gross.

We clear a section of ground between a big tree and the rocks and lay out our trio of bedrolls around the electric stove. We don’t have anything to cook but the warmth is nice. Lunch is dried meat and crackers, a quickly emerging theme as that was the easiest thing for Dove to grab when we packed. The cans were too heavy, but I still really wish we had some.

I doubt we’ll be getting sponsor gifts any time soon, not unless something big and flashy happens. Food is bound to be expensive right now, with a lot of supplies going up in smoke. That means the Gamemakers rack up the prices on all the essentials even faster than normal.

I take the first watch. Grabbing my trident, I scramble up the rocks. I find a couple more spiders, squish them, and also find a centi-milli-pede-bug-thing with lots of legs that get squished too. It looked like it had fangs and nothing it supposed to have that many legs. Once my spot is free of things that can bite me, I settle down. My trident stays at my side, within reach should something larger try to bite me.

Not much has been going on so I feel more fidgety than usual. Before long, I go back to the ground and walk around the strand of trees. The land is open enough that it would be difficult for anyone to sneak up on us so even if the other careers head this way, we’ll see them in time.

Tufts of grass sprout around the rocks. I grab a handful. It’s drying but not yet brittle. I gather an armful of the grass and carry it back to my spot on the rocks. As I continue circling around the strand of trees, I continue gathering the grass.

When I’m both satisfied with the lack of threats and amount of grass I have, I settle down with my back to the rocks. I get a clump of grass, reserve the direction of half of it, mix, reverse again, mix, and reserve until I have an even mix of grass facing both ways, roots towards and away from me.

I knot the first two little clumps together and start twisting the two strands together. Whenever I get low, I splice in another little clump from my mixed clump. Once I have a rhythm, I don’t even have to pay much attention to what my hands are doing, relying on muscle memory to do the task right.

Between the rock tumble and the trees, our camp is nearly invisible from the outside. I still have to abandon my rope making to patrol around.

It’s after noon when I’ve used up all the grass. I nudge Ajax with my foot. I don’t even have to say anything, he just gets up and I settle down.

I move closer to Dove since she’s warm. It’s nice having someone next to me. In training, groups of us would wind up in piles around the space heater during the colder parts of winter. There is a familiar sense of comfort, sleeping by some I know has my back. For now at least.


	13. Chapter 13

**Day 6**

**Lynn Rayna**  
**District 4, Female Tribute**

The word fog being shouted jerks me awake. Ajax is shoving supplies into his pack while he continues to shout Dove and me into consciousness.

What's wrong with fog? Can't be normal fog. Bad fog? Gamemaker fog. (54th Games, southern hills. 75th Games, 2 o'clock area. 78th Games, western swamp.) Paralytic. Moves at around 5 or 6 feet per second.

I jump to my feet and secure my quiver of javelins and trident to my back. The pack gets slug over that. The formation makes the quiver dig into my back but there’s no time to rearrange. Ajax grabs my sleeping bag before I can and already has it in his pack before I can say anything. Dove is bewildered but following Ajax's lead of shoving things into her pack. I grab the electric stove, burn myself, don't care for the moment, turn it off and contort myself enough to get my pack open. The stove gets shoved inside, probably burning something else, but it doesn't matter. I zip my pack up and can hear Ajax and Dove doing the same with theirs.

The fog is curling at the base of the trees eight feet away from us.

As one, we turn and run.

Going at a full sprint, I'm fastest. Make it up a hill, turn, look down at Ajax and Dove passing me for the moment and see the fog pursuing us. The fog is in a uniform wall, pushing us northeast, the direction confirmed by a quick glance at the sun. I turn and sprint again, bringing me into step with Ajax and Dove.

Ajax is able to take bounding leaps over the small pools and stones that lie in our way. Dove and I can't do the same, instead having to go around some of the obstacles, which slows our progress. It isn't long before he is well ahead of us.

I match my pace with Dove's. I could go faster but every time she stumbles, I'm there to catch her, and every time I stumble, she does the same. By now Ajax is a good fifteen feet ahead of us. It's kind of funny, in a weird way. I know I'm selfish and perfectly willing to kill both Dove and Ajax to become Victor. I never knew Ajax had it in him to do the same. I respect him more for it, in addition to being incredibly pissed off by it.

Ajax crests a small hill and turns, looking back at us and the wall of fog. He takes off running again before we catch up to him. Bad sign.

Dove and I pick up the pace. My lungs feel like they're on fire and I can hear Dove's ragged breathing beside me. Just a bit further. An eternity of just a bit further, running across the wetlands. I'm covered in mud and soaked in fetid water.

Out of the corner of my eye, way off to the right, I see another wall of white fog. I turn my head enough to check to my left. The fog is dissipating, no longer driving us east. Just north now. I manage to shout, "This way!"

Dove follows me as I change course. I'd tell Ajax about the new fog direction but he's nearly twenty feet in front of me and my voice doesn't carry that far. The downside of being selfish, you can only rely on yourself.

Ajax does notice the fog and changes course. I can see him way off to my right, a distant figure running from a towering wall of white.

There's another hill. I run a bit faster, make it to the top and turn to look at the wall of fog below. It is still moving towards us. I keep running.

I just keep running. A mad, desperate dash. My lungs burn. I splash across a stream, Dove still alongside me. She pauses and does not reappear at my side. I skid to a halt, turn and see her standing there. The wall of fog looms over her but does not advance past the stream.

We did it.

Tempting as it is to stay and gawk at the wall of fog pressed against the invisible barrier, we continue moving. There's a stand of trees a short distance away. The little stands have become a familiar and comforting sight. Dove and I move slowly, breaths still ragged. My legs are trembling and for a split second I don't even know if I can make it to the trees.

We do make it and once we're concealed in the foliage, we collapse to the ground. I remove my pack and lay down, resting my head against the lumpy mess of supplies. A minute later, Ajax joins us. When I've caught my breath enough to speak I sit up and say, "Thanks for staying with us. It was so courteous of you."

He glares at me and replies through struggling breaths, "Like you wouldn't do the same."

"Could have." I let out a gasping kind of laugh. "But didn't."

Dove stays silent, letting the two of us squabble back and forth.

I lunge forwards and grab his pack. Before he can grab it back, I open it, pull out my sleeping bag, and throw the pack back at him.

I then turn to getting the rest of my supplies in order. I'm down a javelin. One must have fallen out of the sheath some time during the run and I don't really feel like going back for it if I could even find it out there. I still have one javelin, my trident, a short sword, and two knives. The electric stove looks intact, and it did melt some of the plastic packaging containing some dried fruit, but didn't burn anything else.

Satisfied that as far as supplies go that I'm doing fine, I grab my trident and net and scale the nearest tree. I call down to Dove and Ajax. "Get some sleep. It was going to be my turn for watch anyways."

There's some protesting from Ajax, but I just ignore him. Eventually it quiets below me and I am alone with my thoughts.

If Ajax really wanted Dove and I dead, he could have just run and left us to the fog. I shouldn't be so mad at him. The reversal, him being the selfish one while I'm the one that stays behind to help, is strange. If I die, and Ajax dies, then I want Dove to be the Victor. I'm caring too much. 

Luke tried to impress upon those of us in the Otter Polis to keep a balance. We are to control ourselves. We do not become so void of emotions like empathy that we become like the monsters of District 2. Nor are we to mold ourselves so tightly to the form the Capitol desires from us that we become like the pets from District 1. We are the careers of District 4, we are strong, we are proud, and we remain human.

But I worry that being human will kill me out here. The other must be tributes, not people, and certainly not my friends.

I climb higher in the tree to get a better view. The wall of fog is fading. We could go back south but that might not be the best idea.

I don't want either of them to die. I don't want my friends to die.

There's whispers of an almost-rebellion on the boats. Talk of a time, after the 74th Hunger Games, when it looked like the Districts were going to rebel against the Capitol. One of the old fishermen even claimed District 13 was going rise up from the dead and face their old enemy. Ridiculous stories the lot of them. But it would be nice if they were true. Then none of us would be in the arena.

The most District 4 ever got were a couple of riots put down quickly by the Peacekeepers. The outer villages were a lot worse from what my father said. I bet the outer Districts were worse. People were moved around and many disappeared. Some families even got moved between Districts in the following years, breaking up some families further and I'm sure rewarding some that gave information to the Capitol.

Movement catches my eye. Three figures out in the distance.

I climb down from the tree and make my way to the other side of the stand. The figures are clearer and recognizable. Eris in the lead, Silk along sider her, and Cassius bringing up the rear. I watch for a tense few seconds, waiting for them to either keep going or turn towards the stand of trees. I wonder if they got redirected by any fog or if the fog was meant to bring us towards them.

I creep back to where Dove and Ajax are asleep. I keep my voice low. "Wake up. We have a problem."

This doesn't get a response, so I say a bit louder. "Come on. Get up."

I poke Ajax and Dove with the butt of my trident and that works. The both are startled into consciousness. I hush them and say, "Follow."

They do follow me after a moment's hesitation. Dove and I have no problem with being silent but Ajax will never be stealthy with those clunking feet of his. We go the edge of the trees and I gesture towards the trio retreating slowly into the distance. Maybe they saw the wall of fog and are checking for anyone that ran from it. Why aren't they checking the trees then?

I look over at Dove and Ajax and ask, "What should we do?"

There’s silence. Ajax looks over at me. "Do you think you can throw a javelin further than Silk can throw a knife?"

"Maybe." I think of my arm, which still hurts occasionally despite being mostly healed by the liquid bandage stuff. "I don’t want to find out by getting stabbed again. Her aim will be better in the light. And do you want to go against Eris in a fair fight?"

Dove starts thinking out loud. "Okay, so best case scenario. We sneak up on them, Lynn gets Silk with a javelin. One down. Ajax and Lynn, you’d then take on Eris while I’d go after Cassius. We manage to kill both of them. One or more of us would almost certainly get hurt during this. We can treat lacerations and punctures reasonably well. But Eris uses a mace and has the tendency to break bones, including pulping Argent's skull. We can’t treat broken bones all that well out here."

Who was Argent? That must have been the boy from District 3.

Dove's analysis makes the dangers of facing the remaining pack clear. I nod. "I say we run. Head north and look for the tributes from 12 in the forest."

Ajax shakes his head. "This might be our only chance to just rid of them instead of running until they catch us unawares."

Since when did Ajax go on the offensive? He’s always been the cautious type. He even had second thoughts about burning the Cornucopia. I don’t particularly like the idea of running away, I do have my pride, but I’d rather survive. "They’re going in the opposite direction right now. They won’t be catching up to us anytime soon if we go now."

Dove interrupts Ajax’s retort. "Let them go after Tweed and run into the traps."

Ajax huffs but stops arguing. It’s two against one and neither Dove nor I are interested in fighting the other careers. If he wants to fight, he can fight them on his own, which is suicide. Our caution won’t be getting us any sponsors but we won’t need the money for emergency medical supplies if we don’t get hurt in the first place.

We all head back to our makeshift camp. It takes mere seconds to gather everything and be on the move again. I take a half-pace lead and set out course for along the stream. It’s an easy route to follow and plenty of trees and tall reeds grow along the water so it is rather sheltered.

Ajax grumbles something under his breath. Dove keeps a slight distance from the two of us, off to the left a few paces, making her position of neutrality very clear.

Luke sends me no message to stop, so I take that as his approval.

* * *

**Luke Seymour**  
**District 4**  
**Victor of the 77th Hunger Games, Mentor of Lynn Rayna**

Tensions are rising between Lynn and Ajax. They snip at each other and more than once I see Lynn's hands ball into fists. The two of them are getting a lot of air time with this. The audience would love to see an actual fight break out. It will give them the career fight they missed out on due to Lynn and Dove's caution.

Emily shakes her head. "They should have gone after them."

"Too dangerous." I lean back in my chair and check the time. I still have another ten minutes.

At this point the fight between Lynn and Ajax has turned from strategy to simply insulting each other. Lynn sneers and says, "Six."

That shuts Ajax up very quickly.

I repeat, "Too dangerous."

Emily nods, the closest she'll ever come to admitting being wrong.

With Devon there, I would be leaning on the sight of a fight. But with Ajax and Dove as Lynn's allies, she does not have the strong backing she needs to go toe to toe with the other careers without setting up a decent ambush. An ambush could be possible. I don't know what Neith taught Ajax about strategy. That's the largest problem about him switching with Devon. We had already told the Capitol Emily would be mentoring and could not switch her with Neith at such late notice.

There is a rather large cluster of trees that the trio settles into. Ajax and Lynn stay far apart as safe with Dove awkwardly remaining between them. She seems too frightened to try and mediate the conflict. It must be sinking in that Lynn and Ajax are capable of being just as vicious as any career from District 2.

My ten minutes are up. I stand and Emily asks, "How long?"

"Two hours."

She winces in sympathy. "I'll have coffee waiting."

I snort and shake my head. "Scotch for this one."

She turns back to the monitors. "I'll make it a double."

Basalt has gotten up and nods to me. I nod back and start towards the lobby. We can catch the same car. There are little black envelopes tucked into our jacket pockets. Inside are a time, an address, and a name embossed in sickling pretty silver scroll work. The combination is a familiar one. The amount of money and favors some people have to burn will never cease to amaze me.

Some nights just need a stiff drink.


	14. Chapter 14

**Day 7**

**Lynn Rayna**  
**District 4, Female Tribute**

The boy from District 7 stares at me with bloodshot eyes. His guts spill out of the gash to his abdomen and sway as he steps towards me.

"Oak." Burbles through bloody lips.

I take a step back from him. He burbles again. "Oak. My name was Oak. I had a name!"

He reaches towards me and I jump back. He starts shouting, bloody spittle flying from his lips. "I had a sister and father who needed me. You took me from them."

I trip and fall and scuttle away from him like a crab. Unbidden, my mouth opens and I start begging. "I didn’t. I killed you but it was the Capitol that put you in the Arena."

"And you chose to be in the Arena! You chose to be a part of their Games. You chose to kill me and you don’t even dignify me with a name."

He pounces on me and pins me to the ground. I thrash and pleas continue to pour from my throat. "I have a little brother and a little sister that need me. A father and a mother that need me. You tried to take me from them and I just killed you first."

"Liar!" The bloody foam sprays in my face and gets in my eyes. "You’re not here because anyone needs you. You’re here because you’re a shark and humans are slower than fish! I can be a shark too."

He tears out my throat with his teeth.

* * *

Dove wakes me. Her brows are knit together, which means she’s concerned or thinking, maybe both. She just stares at me for a moment, then says, "Your turn for watch."

I nod and get up. It’s a bit early but I’m grateful for the excuse to be awake. I get my trident, put on a pair of the night vision glasses, and start walking around the perimeter of our camp.

I should dignify us all with names. The problem is, I don't know them all. Of the remaining tributes, I know the names of my allies and the other careers. There's Jet and Mary from 12. Tweed from 8. His District partner's name still escapes me. I know even fewer of the names of the dead. There's Tux, Oak, and Jay. I can't recall the others.

Argent, the crying boy, I do remember his name. Dove mentioned him. His sister was... I can't recall.

I pace around the camp as the sun inches above the horizon. The rosy fingers of dawn extend into the sky. The sight is not as majestic as it is out at sea or on the shore. I miss home. I miss the smell of salt in the air and the call of gulls and the voices of my friends and family and neighbors.

Again and again I find myself questioning why I’m out here. It’s not worth it. No amount of money could ever make this worth it. The glory? What do I care for glory when the dead haunt my dreams?

Second guessing myself is of benefit only to my enemies. I need to keep my head on straight.

I get a packet of dried fruit from my pack and pick out the dried strawberries, which I’ve grown rather fond of. As I make another round of the perimeter, I eat my small breakfast, washed down with a swig of water from my canteen.

We should go looking for another pond today and try our luck at some fishing or frogging. Something to get a bit more protein than dried meat without having to be sent another sponsor gift. I’d rather have that saved up for medicine or a weapon in a desperate moment.

Once the song birds start singing their morning tunes, I wake up Ajax and Dove. They get up slowly and it is obvious we are all exhausted. I offer Ajax my packet of dried fruit because there’s only apple slices left and I don’t like them but he does. It’s a stupid peace offering.

Ajax takes the packet and nods. With my peace offering accepted, I sit down next to him on the log he dragged over to camp. He scoots over so I have a bit more room and I know we’re okay. Dove states at us, eye brow arched skeptically. "Are you two going to be capable of speaking to each other without shouting?"

I look over at Ajax, smirking. "I don’t know. Are you still going to be an idiot?"

Ajax smirks back at me. "Of course I will be. It’s my job, remember? I’m the dumb muscle and you’re the clever one."

He shoves me and I nearly fall off the log. I shove him back and he barely moves, braced against the ground as his heels sink into the soft earth.

Dove still looks skeptical, her concerns not dissuaded by the fact Ajax and I are still shoving each other back and forth.

Ajax smiles at Dove. "Don’t worry. Lynn can’t get me, just watch this."

He sticks his arm out, palm pressed against my forehead. Like this, of course, I can’t reach anything more than his arm. So we’re playing this game. I scoop up my trident and give him a thwack in the ribs with the shaft.

He lets out a shout of surprise and removes his hand. He plays at clutching his side and exclaims, "Cheater!"

I laugh at him. "Clever."

He laughs too and soon we’re shoving each other again, throwing insults back and forth between fits of laughter. Dove is just shaking her head. I guess she’s never had play fights with friends before. At least not like we do back at home. A fight is never considered to be serious unless blood is drawn. Yelling is just noise. The wind blusters but fills no sails.

I get a particularly good jab in Ajax’s ribs and he stands. I start to get to my feet when he picks me up, pinning my arms to my sides. I stay limp, having gotten used to this. When most of your friends are four or five inches taller than you and a good thirty pounds heavier, being picked up is a fact of life. Ajax carries me over to where Dove is sitting and says, "She’s so tiny and so full of rage. I don’t get how it all fits."

I squirm. "Very funny. Now let me down before I kick you in the knee."

Ajax maintains his grip and says, "See, so full of rage."

He sets me down and I plop down next to Dove while Ajax returns to his log.

We probably wasted a full hour messing around and we should get on the move again. The other pack members might still be looking for us. But having the air clear between Ajax and me is worth it. I'm sure it amused some sponsors as well.

As if in confirmation of that thought, a flash of silver appears through the trees. The basket lands on the ground between Dove and I and Ajax comes over to join us. Inside is a warm breakfast. There's oatmeal and kippers and fresh bread. There's less overall and no jam this time. As the time drags on, prices rise. This would have cost more than that first breakfast.

We split the food evenly. This is not a career picnic.

I dig around in my backpack and find a jar of strawberry jam at the bottom. I pull it out and we split it between us. It doesn't leave anyone with much jam, but is better than none.

We pack up our things and move out again. I get my rope from Ajax so I can start working on knotting it into a net by the time we reach the forest.

The landscape looks different in the daylight. We’ve got to be somewhere around where we were the fifth day. We fan out, Ajax taking the center position, with me on his right and Dove on his left.

There are a bunch of tiny white flowers growing in little clusters amongst the grass, extending up from dark red stalks. There are rather pretty, which makes me nervous, because pretty things are often deadly in the arena. We skirt around the flowers but only come across a thicker patch of them. Trying to avoid the heavier patch leads us to a more sparse collection of the clumps of flowers. It is slow going, weaving our way through the hazardous terrain. Going back seems like less and less of an option. It could lead us into the fog again or mutts could drive us straight back out here.

We have no way of knowing what the exact danger of the flowers is, if there even is one, because it may be that the audience is laughing at us right now because there is no danger lurking underground here. It could even be that some of the flowers are dangerous and other aren’t. I keep an eye out for any variation in color or shape that could indicate a difference between any of them.

Going too far west takes us towards the Cornucopia, which still might serve as the other career's camp. We were driven away from the east, repeatedly. Continuing just north seems like the best option at the moment, flowers or not.

Ajax stumbles, which draws my attention away from the flowers. I call over to him, "Tripped over your own feet again?"

It would not be the first time he’s done that. He calls back, "Flat ground. Must have."

He goes to take another step and can’t. It stops being funny. I have to stop myself from running towards him. I move carefully, avoiding all of the flowers and red stalks. Dove starts towards us and I call out to her, "Watch where you step. I think it’s the red grass."

She freezes and checks the ground around her feet.

I continue towards Ajax. The progress is painstakingly slow, because I’m not quite sure what to be on the lookout for. The flowers and red stalks stand out the most but others dangers could be accompanying them. Ajax calls over to me, "Lynn, it’s dissolving my boot."

There’s an edge of panic in his voice. I’m finally by his side. I position myself so there are no flowers or red stalks directly behind me, which puts me a little to Ajax’s right, the same side trapped by the grass. I try to keep my voice calm, "Undo the laces of your boot, cut them if you have to. We’ll get you out."

With shaking hands, Ajax does as I say, slicing his laces and any stalks that get in his way. I reach out and grab his arm. I can see the red stalks wrapping around his ankle and the sap dissolving the leather. Ajax steps further forward with his left leg. We pull together, trying to free his right foot from the death trap of a boot.

Something green and vaguely oar shaped rises from the ground and lands on Ajax’s right leg. The giant leaf thing is covered in the red stalks, laden with the acidic sap. I keep pulling and Ajax bellows in pain. More of the ground starts rippling and I can see that every cluster of flowers is the center of some horrible plant muttation. The one that has Ajax seems to be the largest.

I shout over Ajax’s cry of pain, "Dove, try to cut it!"

Plant mutts. 18th, poison. 50th, poison. Tribute eaters. Which had tribute eaters? 23rd, no that was a snare. I can't think.

All I can do it maintain my grip on Ajax’s arm and keep pulling. But the plant is pulling back and it turns into a twisted game of tug of war with Ajax’s life in the balance. I just have to hold on to him. Dove will cut him free, then we can get out of here and get Ajax patched up.

Since we can see the plants now, Dove is able to get over to us, one of her short swords drawn. Another leaf hits Ajax’s left leg and elicits another scream of pain. There’s panic in my own voice now, "Cut them!"

Dove slices the first leaf thing but her blade only gets half way through before becoming stuck. This seems to piss the plant mutt off because it starts pulling harder. There’s blood coursing down Ajax’s legs as the sap eats through his boots and the canvas fabric of the pants and starts dissolving his flesh. Horrible as it is, maybe that will weaken the grip enough for me to free him. The plants should not be able to stick to liquid.

All I can do is to keep pulling. The weakened leaf breaks and Ajax takes a step forward. Another leaf rises up, larger than the others and starts swinging towards Ajax’s back.

No!

It lands squarely on his back and he pitches forwards, dragging me down with him. I land on one of the smaller plants, no larger than the palm of my hand. It sticks to my side, making quick work of the thin shirt fabric before starting to dissolve my skin. I roll back to my right but that only tears the plant out of the ground and it keeps eating me.

I lurch forwards and grab onto Ajax again. His screams are muffled by the leaf that’s starting to curl onto his face, drawing him into the center of the plant. The world blurs as tears of pain blind me.

No. Not like this. He’s not dying like this. We’re careers. We don’t get killed by plants.

I struggle to my knees and just keep pulling on him. I have to get him free. I have to.

A pair of arms wrap around me and drags me backwards. I kick and scream and try to fight my way back to Ajax. I can’t leave him to die like this. There has to be a way to free him.

The cannon fires and the fight goes out of me. Dove, it’s Dove that’s saved me from myself, drags me away from the blurry view of Ajax’s still warm corpse being further engulfed by the plant.

How will they place a coin in his mouth if he doesn’t have a face?

Dove is saying something to me. Her voice sounds really far away. "Lynn, can you stand? Lynn, you need to talk to me. Can you hear me?"

Ajax isn't allowed to die yet. Less than an hour ago we were laughing and he was picking me up. We were okay again. And now he's dead.

It's not fair. It isn't right. Careers do not get killed by plants. He just got eaten by a plant.

The 87th Hunger Games, tribute eating plant mutts. New category.

* * *

**Luke Seymour**  
**District 4**  
**Victor of the 77th Hunger Games, Mentor of Lynn Rayna**

Beside me, Emily is swearing up a storm. I agree with her general sentiment of "fucking plants." There have been vine snares, toxic fruits and flowers, and razor sharp thorns. But plants that eat tributes are new. A career being eaten by a plant is really new.

I scroll through the list of sponsor gifts, trying to find something that will help. There's a salve to counteract the plant's sap. I get that and a new shirt for Lynn.

I watch the screen for a moment. Dove's gotten Lynn to her feet and they're making their way towards the safety of a small ridge. I send the parachute and watch as Lynn's sponsor total plummets to all of 2 solidi. And that was including everything that got transferred to her upon Ajax's death.

Ajax had the medical kit in his pack, which I don't think either Dove or Lynn are thinking of right now. The hover craft has already appeared to take his body away so the kit is out of the arena, along with all of the weapons and food he had on him. Trying to retrieve them would have been too dangerous though.

Both do have some gauze in their packs but it might not be enough to cover the wound in Lynn's side. She'll need antibiotics, a lot of them. Given the size and severity of the wound, the risk of infection is incredibly high. If she doesn't bleed out first.

Lynn is rather unsuccessfully trying to get the plant off herself without getting her hands coated in the acidic sap as well. The stick she's using is not doing that much to get the plant off and might just be worsening the wound. Dove keeps trying to help, by Lynn's not letting her, insisting that they're better off with only one of them being eaten alive. She seems to have largely snapped out of the initial daze. For a moment, I was worried that the only way we'd get a Victor this year would be if the arena flooded.

I keep an eye Lynn's sponsor total but it's only risen to 40 solidi. That's maybe one antibiotic tablet, out of a set of the necessary twelve. And that price is assuming that the antibiotic prices haven't been raised more than average by the Gamemakers.

The phone rings and I scoop it up. I'm taking any sponsor I can get at the moment.

"What does she need?"

It's Cassie. I don't think I've ever been this happy to hear from a sponsor. Her money is wonderfully free of strings. Or at least the strings are not yet visible and probably won't involve sex.

"Antibiotics. One of the shots. She might need another one later." I desperately try to think of anything else I could get for Lynn. Her vita;s are jumping around. Adrenaline is keeping her going for now. "Alcohol to sterilize the wound, and more bandages."

I relay the price and the total jumps that amount in a few large amounts. The largest is tied to Cassie's name. The other names I do not recognize but will be associates of hers from the Jabber Jay no doubt. She asks, "What sizes of synth-skin can you get?"

I pull open the tab then look over at the screen, trying to gauge the size of the raw hole in Lynn's side. None of the synth-skin pieces are large enough. They're meant for minor burns and blisters, not a wound that covers almost the whole of Lynn's side. It could work for the burns on her hands from the sap. I tell her as much.

Cassie says something I can't make out and another voice replies. The sponsor total jumps that amount. The name tied to it is Sarah Storm. I know Sarah, actually. She's a model and frequents the Blacklight Lion. The two of them must be sisters or cousins since they share the same surname. I thank Cassie and end the call. The sponsor total spikes again, a series of smaller amounts, and I look over to the screen. Lynn has removed her jacket and sliced off the remnants of her shirt, leaving her in only a sports bra. I make a note of all the sponsor names. If she gets through this, I'm not letting any of them near her if I can help it.

A few clicks and the next parachute is on its way.

I lean back in my chair and watch the screen. There's nothing else I can do for the moment. Next to me, Emily gets to her feet and says, "I'll make the call."

I nod and she heads towards her room. Ajax's parents will already know he's dead. They'll have been watching. We still make the calls. We've been screamed at and sworn at and sometimes there's just sobbing. 

Jasmine passes by, lingering beside my chair. She comments, "Nearly at the final eight."

I nod. She lost Tux three days ago. A mace to the face will do that. Least it wasn't a plant.

Hopefully I won't lose Lynn today.


	15. Chapter 15

**Day 8**

**Lynn Rayna**   
**District 4, Female Tribute**

The anthem plays and I press my face into Dove's chest. I can't look. There's a pause and I know that Ajax's face is up there, whole and unmarred by acidic sap. That's not what his face is now. No, his face is melted flesh and oozing blood. Then the anthem returns and it's safe for me to look up again.

I feel weak. I couldn't save him. And now his death has sent me spiraling. I'm trying not to fall apart completely, but there's nothing for me to do with my injured hands so all that's left to do is think. I have never done well when all I can do is think. Motion helps so I find myself fidgeting, going through a pattern of tensing and un-tensing my legs. Clenching my fists is met with pain and immediate regret.

Everything hurts. My side is a mess. The salve that removed the sap numbed the areas but that numbness has faded back into pain. There's nothing left to soothe away all the pain. And I'm, I dunno, mourning, I guess. I never really knew Ajax all that well. He was in Crab Polis under Neith in training so I only ever talked to him when we were competing against each other.

Killing him myself would have been preferable. That would be success in combat. This was only a failure in protecting my friend.

I check the patches on my hands again, pulling up a corner to look at the skin beneath the medicine coated rubber. In the few hours since Dove put them on, the skin has gone from raw and red to an angry, inflamed pink. Hopefully after a night of rest, I'll be able to hold things again.

Everything is quiet. I remain pressed against Dove, a couple of blankets draped around us as we huddle under a lone tree. The final expanse between us and the cliffs is rather flat, taken up mainly by reeds, with only a handful of stunted trees rather than the stands that are more to the south. We should be coming to the cattail field not far the Cornucopia sometime tomorrow.

Dove whispers, her gentle voice a now familiar line back to reality. "Try and get some rest. I'll keep watch."

I consider arguing. I don't want to sleep with all of the dead that will be haunting me. Dove's sleep would be just as troubled and one of us might as well try to rest. I just nod and close my eyes. I'm too tired to argue nor do I trust myself to speak without crying again. I'm too tired to do much of anything.

Exhaustion overrules all else and sleep comes with surprising ease.

* * *

The dead are trying to drown me in a sea of blood again. I consider resigning myself to the fate. Let the dead have their revenge. I killed them; it's only fair they kill me back.

There is blood in my eyes and blood in my mouth. It begins to fill my lungs. Not like this. Drowning is the worst death I could ever imagine. This is not how I will die.

I fight because that is all I know how to do. I kick and punch and there's a hand above me. I grab it.

The grip is familiar. The same one that picked me up and announced how I'm too tiny to hold all my rage.

Ajax pulls me above the surface of the sea of blood. He doesn't have a face. His features drip like candle wax. I try to scream but no sound comes out. There is only blood and bile and orange juice. His grip slips and the dead pull me back under.

They grab my face and tear it away until it too is like candle wax. They dig a hole in my side so they can feast on my liver like the eagle does to Prometheus the Fire-Bringer. Oak slices open my belly and spills my guts like I did to him. At least I do not drown.

* * *

Birdsong wakes me, coupled with warm sunlight. I blink and stretch and there's twinges of pain that run up and down my side. Dove dozes next to me, her head resting on my shoulder.

Wait, that means we were both asleep. Well, we're still alive so nothing horrible happened. I look over at our packs, which rest against our legs, and they're undisturbed.

I remember blood and fear but other than that, the dead haunting me have lost their vividness. I guess exhaustion won out over guilt. That and I'm becoming numb to it. It feels wrong to become so used to death like this.

I nudge Dove awake. She blinks and mutters something, then swears under her breath. As she checks over our packs, I pull back one of the rubbery bandages on my hands. The flesh is pink and shiny but when I poke the bandages, it isn't painful to the point of crippling like it was yesterday. I'll be able to hold things, maybe not for too long, but I can do it. Fighting will be out of the question. We'll have to start heading to the north in greater earnest in case the rest of the pack heads back out here sensing our weakness. It takes a lot to kill a career and that normally means their allies get injured as well. Ajax's death has put a mark on us. The rest of the pack outnumbers us now, assuming they are still traveling together, which is likely.

My side still hurts and I'm afraid to look at the wound. My shirt is still clean, so at least I haven't bled through the gauze. Bracing myself, I lift up the edge of my shirt to reveal the layers of white gauze wrapped around my torso. I press the flesh around the wound. The gauze remains clean and the twinge of extra pain dissipates quickly enough. I'm not going to make a habit of poking around the wound though.

I decide to just leave things alone, when we stop from lunch we can change the bandages. Dove tosses me a packet a jerky. I take out a piece and chew on it as I fold my blanket and get it back into my pack. Moving around is uncomfortable with the aching wound and restricting bandages around my torso. But I'm alive, so there's that at least.

I shoulder my pack and chase the jerky with a swig of water from my canteen. I'm getting really sick of dried food. When we reach the river, I'm going to make a point of doing some fishing.

Standing up hurts a lot more than I thought it would. Dove helps me along the first couple of steps before I adjust to the pain and can support myself on my own.

We go vaguely north, trudging through reeds and mud. The sounds of rustling reeds and birdsong surround us. The silence between Dove and I is somewhere between companionable and awkward. She's apparently sensing the same thing because she asks in a low voice, "How are you feeling?"

"Fine." The answer comes too quickly, with more of an edge to it than I intended. I reply again, softer, "I'm fine. It just hurts."

The "it" speaks volumes. Physically, emotionally, "it" works for all of it. Dove's been rather lucky so far. She's not gotten physically hurt save for a few minor scratches and bruises from running across rough terrain. I've taken a knife to the arm and an acidic plant to the side. But we've both lost our District partners so I know she'll be able to figure out what I mean when I say "it" hurts.

The foliage changes from the thick reeds to cattails and I can see a stand of willow trees. I slow to a halt. The area is very familiar. I squint and can make out the outline of one of the walkways way off to my left. We've neared the remains of the Cornucopia. We near the willow trees where I discussed the plan with Ajax. I mention the former to Dove.

Her brows knit together in concentration. "Do you think we should see what's left?"

I shake my head. "If my hands weren't messed up, I'd say sure. But I can't fight like this. The rest of the pack could still be there."

She nods, brows still furrowed. "After we find 12 we could come back this way. It's not too far at any rate, half a day's walk, maybe a bit more."

"It's a plan."

The lull gives us opportunity to pause and drink some water and eat a few crackers. My side twinges at almost every movement. Exhaustion claws at me. My body has to be using a lot of energy to heal the wound in my side.

We move out again. We might even be able to reach the river tonight, or early tomorrow morning since my wounds have slowed me down.

There is little else to do, so Dove and I talk. We keep out voices low enough that the rustling of reeds obscure them.

She starts, "What did you want to do when you grew up?"

Be a tribute. I'm a career. This is growing up for me. I'm 17 and likely to die in the next week or two. There is another answer, one more appropriate for saying out loud.

"Be a salvage crew diver. I got to work with them once, a shallow water dive. There were sharks everywhere and it was my job to help drive them off. I like diving. Except for how cold it gets, but I can live with that part of it."

There's more to the story, like what boat we were salvaging and the lost thing I returned to Jessie. But neither the Capitol nor Dove needs to know that. The Capitol because they do not have the privilege and Dove because I remind myself not to get too horribly attached to her. I think I already am.

I look over to her and ask, "What about you?"

"A surveyor. I was hoping to be promoted to team head when I got past my final Reaping. Even if it was just the repair surveys."

She talks about her adventures out in the further reaches of District 5, among the wind and solar farms. Sometimes there was little to do so she learned about birds. She can identify most kinds of birds by the calls they make. There's a new kind of wind turbine that's being constructed that doesn't have blades; it's just a huge pole that vibrates and somehow that makes electricity. I don't really get it but I'm sure she wouldn't get much about boats so it's mutual.

She ends with something I don't expect. "I was going to get married. His name is Al. We had it all planned out. Even knew which neighborhood we wanted to apply to for housing."

Her life is so vastly different from mine. Planning ahead. Thinking about living longer than 17 or 18 years. It must be sad living like that because it can all be taken away from you ever so quickly. Her plans got ruined the second her name was called and the plans her boyfriend had got ruined, too. At least he wasn't stupid enough to volunteer to go in with her. Star-crossed lovers never have happy lives, defying both the Capitol and the Fates.

I say the only kind of comfort I know how to give. "He's proud of you, I bet. You made it this far."

Outlived fifteen other tributes, two of them careers. She is doing phenomenally for someone from a Mid District.

She asks, "Do you have someone back home?"

I expected the question to be on her mind, but at the same time did not expect her to actually ask it. I can feel my face heating up and stammer a moment, "Um. Not really."

Dove's eye light up and she grins at me, "Yes you do!" Her tone is teasing.

This worse than when Jessie found out I had a crush.

We keep our voices low, but it's hard as she keeps badgering me and I keep telling her to drop it. She starts trying to guess by listing all the letters of the alphabet and watching how much I blush. I hope there is not a notable increase in redness when she reaches H.

I find myself smiling in spite of it all. She's being so annoying and it is normal. Talking with her is like talking with Jessie and Min. It makes me feel better so I let her keep on going.

She gets through the whole alphabet without provoking any obvious reaction and exclaims, "Come on! Please tell me. You can whisper it in my ear."

I hiss back, keeping my voice low because there could be other tributes somewhere around here, "You wouldn't even know him."

She lowers her voice, realizing her mistake, "Then why does it matter if you tell me?"

Okay, she has a point. Telling her would make her the third person to know who I have a crush on. The other two are Jessie and Min. I'm not sure if I want to include her in that group. I might have to kill her later. She might try to kill me later.

Will doing this help me more than it will hurt me?

Yes. It will get me sponsors. The Capitol loves things like this. They'll be trying to enhance the audio to make out the name for hours. When we reach the final eight, the interviewers will try to figure out who my crush is, giving me precious screen time.

I lean over and whisper, "His name is Hyacinth. He's the carpenter's son."

His is more than that, so much more, but that's enough for Dove to know.

Dove giggles in triumph, muffling the sound with her hands over her mouth.

The woods are close and we make the final push to get under the cover of the trees. We stop to rest under the trees but remain quiet now. This is rather unfamiliar territory and District 12 is somewhere out here. Beyond the river or not.

My side is sore. I mention it and add, "We can just stop for lunch anyways."

Dove agrees and we find a small clearing. Thinking about it, my side really hurts. My movement are slow and not just because of wading through muck sine this is dry land. I take a seat on a large tree root and lift up the edge of my shirt. There are dark spots on the bandages now. All I can think to say is, "I'm bleeding."

Things start to become fuzzy. That is a lot of blood seeping out of the bandages. Dove's voice swims through the air. I need to stay conscious.

Dove pulls more gauze out of her pack and presses it to my side. I stifle a scream as pain shoots through me.

Blood loss. Keeping pressure is good. Um, what else? No transfusions out here.

I can't think. Dove is speaking but I can't focus enough to make anything out. Is this what dying feels like? I hope not. I don't want to die.


	16. Chapter 16

**Day 9**

**Khaleesi "Cassie" Storm**   
**Capitol Citizen**   
**Mutt Designer**

The voice of Gemus Laurel drones on in the background. A new rounds of bets have gone up. I'd place some on Lynn, but I can't. The only downside of Agrippa being my husband, no betting on District 4. It doesn't stop me from betting against other tributes or betting on the brackets.

Most of the tributes are on the move again after an uneventful night. Flax has been slowly working her way further northwest but has begun to double back in the direction of the Cornucopia. Lynn and Dove are in woods and should make it to the river before noon at their current pace.

Lynn's fainting spell yesterday afternoon is concerning. The wound to her side has weakened her considerably.

There's another update on the odds for the final eight. The current trend is favoring that Flax will be the next death. I disagree with the assessment and accordingly have a modest bid on Flax reaching that bracket. Lynn and Dove are going to reach the tributes from 12 before the pack reaches Flax's position, particularly if she really is heading towards the Cornucopia.

I turn back to my tablet. Lucius Goodman "leaked" some of his designs for the sun dew mutts. He just wants to brag about what he claims he managed to do. I have a hard time believing that he successfully incorporated twitch muscle fibers into a plant. He wouldn't even need to. A combination of the already present cell growth mechanism with acid growth would make the plant move enough for gravity to do the bulk of the work on the descent.

What I really want to know is the composition of the adhesive in the sap. That could be an interesting component for a snail mutt I've been thinking of for the Jabber Jay. Add a slow acting neurotoxin instead of the acid. Using neurotoxins isn't that entertaining, though. Far too quick. Maybe I could just stay with the adhesive and incorporate it with spider silk. A spider snail. Could work for some of the swarm rounds.

The scent of coffee distracts me and I set my tablet aside. I take the paper cup Agrippa offers me and move over so he can sit next to me. This disturbs Seasmoke and the dragon mutt moves from my lap onto the footstool in protest.

I glance at the time and comment, "That didn't take as long."

Agrippa smiles. "No crying either. He was just happy to see his friends."

It's nice that Aemon is settling into the routine of going to school. Agrippa had been a little hesitant to send our son to pre-K but the program is only half a day long. The drawing class they have is excellent and our little boy is already becoming quite the artist. Given another year or two and he'll be better at drawing than I am.

I take a sip of coffee and pick my tablet back up. I pull up the scarab I've been working on and show it to Agrippa. "This is as blue as I can get it without too many larval deaths. Will it be dark enough for the diamonds?"

Agrippa takes the tablet and studies holograph of the scarab. He sets his coffee down and pulls out a fabric swatch from one of a half dozen coat pockets to compare the color. I really shouldn't be surprised he has it on hand. Whenever I do the washing it is inevitable that I wind up with a pile of fabric swatches from whatever collection Agrippa is working on at the time. That is actually the reason I tend to do the washing, I don't trust an Avox to remember to sort through all the pockets.

He nods and hands the tablet back. The swatch disappears into a coat pocket again. "The addition of the purple worked out perfectly. The anodized aluminum should wind up being a few shades darker so it won't match too closely. And the cold will keep them nice and docile. It's going to be great."

Collaborating with Agrippa is always enjoyable. A nice change of pace, focusing on getting the perfect color and size rather than pain resistance and blood clotting factors.

My phone buzzes on the coffee table and I check who the caller is. I give a snort of annoyance and Agrippa asks, "Rochester again?"

I nod and don't answer the phone. I take another sip of coffee and settle into a more comfortable position curled up against Agrippa's side. "He still thinks he deserves a reimbursement for that stupid horse of his. Like it's my fault he didn't read the contract."

"He's just a sore loser. Designed it with Redqueen in mind, no doubt."

The unicorn mutt would have stood a chance against some of my smaller dragons. Blackdread is nearing retirement age and Redqueen has emerged as my new regular fighter. Still doesn't mean I'm reimbursing Rochester because I used an unscheduled fighter. The contract states that any designer is allowed to enter a different, pre-approved fighter at any time. I know he has an approved crocodilian mutt that would have fared far better against Blackdread than that unicorn did. Even his leopard mutt would have done better. Anticipating a potential shift in roster is half the strategy at the Jabber Jay.

My phone buzzes again. It's a text from Jay asking when I'm coming in. I explicitly said I'm taking the day off. How difficult is that for people to understand that? I'm not scheduled for any fighting, Jay is the house designer tonight. He probably never made a replacement for the hedgehog mutt he lost last week. I send him a quick text giving him permission to use one of my spare lion mutts. They're last season anyways.

The only reason I've left my phone on is in case Luke calls about Lynn. She is doing well in spite of her injury. I had to arrange for another sponsorship sent her way yesterday when she started bleeding everywhere. Most of it was for some medicine to help make up for the blood loss. So much for that new coffee maker I was going to get. And now I owe Sarah a favor and I hate owing my sister favors.

She really should treat me better, considering I work with her husband and could easily tell him about her little fling with Hector Prism. But then Jay would start crying and I'd have to deal with that.

And I've left my phone on so I can play Cookie Crumble, too. Once my lives finishing recharging. The half hour wait feels like forever. I should just pay the five argenti to upgrade to VIP so I don't have to wait anymore. I hate waiting.

* * *

**Luke Seymour**   
**District 4**   
**Victor of the 77th Hunger Games, Mentor of Lynn Rayna**

The music thumps around me. I cannot think in this place, which is fine by me. Places like this are not for thinking.

Money is exchanged for goods. I step over a puddle of vomit. I slip the pills into Hector's waiting palm. He hands me his phone so I can transfer the sponsorship funds to Lynn's account. I add more than we agreed but he will not notice. He's too high to even notice when I start to hand him his phone back. On second thought, I won't hand it back yet.

I flick through his photos and texts. I've never gotten the point of sexting. A few select bits of gossip get sent off to acquaintances' burner phones. They will know what to do with the information. In turn, they send sponsorship money. This is my favorite business. They take my time, I take their secrets. I give Hector his phone back and head out again. 

There have been far worse things I've done to get sponsorship money.

A car is waiting for me outside. Dawn is lounging in the backseat, her shoes off and legs stretched across the seat. I move her out of the way and sit beside her. She lolls her head towards me and asks, "Where were you planning on going?"

"Back to the center. You?"

She looks back to the ceiling of the car. "Guess I should go back, too."

I rap on the driver's headrest and say, "Take us back, please."

The Avox nods and the car pulls away from the curb. Dawn looks sicker than she had during Mrs. Volous' party. I frown and half-heartedly chastise her, "This is only hurting you. It won't help him. You can't keep them away."

She nods. "Still. You'll be doing the same thing if your girl wins. And I'll be doing it even more if my girl wins. Good odds for either."

I grab a couple of the water bottles from the mini-fridge and hand her one. She gulps it down and I sip on mine. I haven't had nearly as much to drink as she has. I’m also not the mentor of the Capitol’s newest golden boy.

She looks back to me. "Sorry about throwing that coffee cup at you earlier. I shouldn't have lost my temper like that."

Hers was the most dramatic reaction to Lynn's plan. I laugh and forgive her. "You didn't even hit me. Besides, I'm the one that lied about not knowing what Lynn was planning."

She shakes her head. "I can't believe you okay'd burning down the Cornucopia."

"I can't believe I did either."

"It worked. That's the most surprising thing." Dawn grabs another bottle of water from the fridge. "They haven't raised food prices as much as I thought they would. Think it's because we have a new Head?"

I wish the medicine prices had stayed down like the food. "They want a chance for a melee still happening. Even the fog wall pushed for one. Now they just need to keep ours alive long enough for them to fight."

The car winds through the streets, weaving around a few stumbling drunks. A calm night for the Capitol. A few marquees are displaying final eight odds. Lynn is sitting at 1/5, good, considering her injury. Odds that good, not many will bet, so there will be few sponsors that way. Tonight will pay off then.


	17. Chapter 17

**Day 10**

**Lynn Rayna**   
**District 4, Female Tribute**

With a belly full of roasted trout, I feel the best I have since entering the arena. The hot food has done wonders. And my hands no longer being covered in blisters helps, too. The river has proved to be a good spot to take a rest. Dove is stretched out on the bank, taking a quick nap before we leave the river behind. We've situated ourselves on the north bank, the river providing a barrier between us and most of the other tributes.

The wound to my side still aches and the scabs crack. Some parts had to have healed, maybe because of the medication Luke sent two days ago when I passed out. Dove thinks it might have been dehydration and heat exhaustion as much as the blood loss. She's seen people pass out working at solar farms before to recognize the effects.

The bleeding has not gotten that severe since. I've been making sure to drink plenty of water to stay hydrated due to loosing large amounts of fluid.

I've been working on my net. The river has plenty of small stones I've been able to attach as weights with extra pieces of rope. Some of the stones have fallen out, but without actual holes in most of the stones, there's not all that much I can do other than create baskets of knots. Even the knots will add some extra weight to the edge, which is the desired effect. I run my hands over the twisted pieces of grass rope. The longer, but tighter twists are Ajax's handiwork. Part of me wants to cry at the thought of him. But it's pointless to. He's dead and crying won't bring him back. He chose to come into the arena. He volunteered when he shouldn't have. His death was inevitable.

Luke always made sure to point out that we could cry. It is easier if we can find a way to be stone faced killers, but that never happens. The Gamemakers just won't show the footage of us behaving like actual people. Luke even admitted to crying in his games, when things just got overwhelming. You would never know it by the recap footage. His eyes are never even red or puffy to show he had been crying. The image of the pack as emotionless monsters is maintained primarily by careful footage editing.

Crying still feels wrong though. I'm supposed to be clever, not emotional. There is not much to be clever about at the moment. The plan is simple. Find and kill Jet. Mary, well, I don't know what to do about her. It would be cruel to kill her and cruel to leave her out here alone.

Fighting seems a dubious prospect at the moment. Despite how much better I feel, I know that pushing myself might lead to a crash. My side is vulnerable to more damage. I need the sponsors, though. If I pass out again, I doubt anyone in the Capitol would donate a single argenti to buy me more medicine. I'm a career, my sponsorships come from killing. Which I haven't done since the bloodbath.

I look up at the sky, squinting as I try to judge what time it is. Around two or three in the afternoon, the hottest part of the day. It's a good time to take a rest, which means that it's also a good time to hunt for other tributes. I nudge Dove awake and shoulder my pack. My side only twinges a little at the motion.

Dove yawns and shoves the electric stove into her pack. The little thing is dirty and beat up and it is doubtful it will hold out much longer. The battery is probably close to dead at this point anyways.

We set off along a stream we found. Based on some of the scouting we did yesterday and earlier this morning, it appears to be one of the only sources of water deeper in the forest, which means that 12 will be sticking close to it if they're not coming back to the river on a regular basis. The mossy bank is rather slippery and our boots leave behind skid marks as the moss is stripped away from the stone beneath. We move away from the stream bank but I make sure to keep it in sight. We might be able to track 12 based on any skid marks they've left behind.

I keep Dove in my peripheral vision as we continue through the forest, following the winding path of the stream steadily uphill. I keep my net slung over my left shoulder and my trident ready in my right hand. Stalking through the woods, there's a thrill in the back of my mind, similar to the one I got hunting with the pack by the river.

A couple skid marks on the rocks show where someone had come down to get water. I point the marks out to Dove and ask, "How old do you think they are?"

She shrugs. Neither of us really know much about tracking anything. The marks are all on this side of the bank, which means that any camp 12 has is also probably on this side of the stream. Unless they're smart enough to intentionally step over the steam to gather water from this side to throw off anyone trying to track them. Even then, they would be the odd mark on the other bank given how slippery the surface is.

I find a sturdy looking tree and toss my pack into the branches. The dull grey sticks out amongst the brown and green but I don't need it to blend in. I just need it out of my way and away from most animals. Dove does the same after a few more minutes of walking. No sense in making it easy for the Gamemakers to destroy all of our supplies in one go. I managed to get most important things into my pockets anyways. A couple rolls of gauze, iodine tablets, and enough jerky to last me another day or so. Plus all of my weapons and the night vision glasses are with me as well.

Dove and I walk parallel, around ten feet apart, with the river on my left and Dove on my right. It could easily take us days of combing the forest to find our quarry. I doubt the Gamemakers would let it go on that long, but I brace myself for the long haul.

We sweep up and down the hilly ground around the stream, looking for clearings or shallow caves that might be hiding the tributes from 12. There are scattered signs of them, evidence that they have been up here for the past five days. The remains of a cooking fire and the scattered bones of a small animal, rabbit or squirrel. Then I find an actual trap, a simple contraption consisting of a couple sticks, a rock, and a handful of berries as bait. We have to be close.

The sun sinks lower in the sky and the temperatures begin to drop to a more comfortable level again. I can't see the sky very well through the thick trees so even if they start a fire, it is doubtful I'd see the smoke.

A branch cracks and my heart leaps in excitement. The sound came from my left. Dove is still on my right. Neither of us made the sound.

As one, the two of us converge towards source of the sound, swift and silent as possible. In the mellowing light, I see movement and a distinctly human form. I charge and let out a triumphant cry of, "Got one!"

Behind me, Dove whoops. The tributes from District 12 don't know we're not with the rest of the pack anymore. Jet is before us, weaving through the trees. He is far more familiar with the forest than we are. My side twinges in pain as the gauze rubs against the wound with my movement and I fear I will falter and lose track of Jet.

It is Jet that eventually stumbles over something and I close the distance. My net leaves my hand, tethered to my wrist with a loose knot, and it catches Jet by the arm. The river stones I used as weights act as intended and wrap the net more tightly around his arm. I pull backwards and bring him towards me.

He pulls back on the net and draws a machete. I slip my wrist out of the knot and take my trident in a two handed grip. I strike forwards, trying to catch at his clothing or the net to get him further off balance. Dove has had enough time to circle around behind Jet and I know he cannot escape me now.

I parry a frantic machete strike. The air rings with the sound of metal on metal. I strike his leg with the butt of my trident. He tries to twist away from me and I find an opening. I sink a prong into Jet's side. I release the trident and draw my sword. Jet screams in pain and tries to pull the trident free from where it bites into his flesh. The barb is hooked into him and the weight from the trident hanging there keeps the wound open.

He keeps me at bay with machete slashes. I prod his defenses, looking for another opening. This back and forth exchange of strike and parry has a familiar comfort to it, reminding me of sparring sessions with my friends. This is where I am in my element, yet a severely wounded tribute from District 12 should not be an equal sparring partner.

While he is weighed down by the net and trident, he is now strengthened by adrenaline. I am able to parry or dodge all of his swings but fail to make a good enough opening to deliver a finishing blow. I make a grab for the trident's shaft. If I pull it out, he'll bleed faster.

A high pitched scream causes me to turn, reflexively slashing towards the sound, aiming for what should be roughly abdomen level. My sword connects cleanly with Mary's torso, the force of the blow sending her sprawling backwards. The knife she had clutched in her hand bounces across the forest floor. Her war cry turns into a wail of agony.

That did just solve my earlier dilemma.

I take a step towards her. There's a lot of blood. Her shirt is already wine-dark. Brave girl, perhaps she will wind up in Elysium. I place my foot on her shoulder, pinning her to the ground and steadying her. I press my sword to her throat and Jet cries out, "Don't you dare touch her, career!"

He spits the word "career" like a curse. Like I'm some kind of monster.

I plunge the blade into Mary's neck. She's still squirming so it does not go in smoothly. I wanted to make this quick. I push harder and feel resistance before it gives. The screaming stops with steel in the way and the cannon fires. Blank grey eyes stare past me into the lands that only the dead can see.

Jet crashes into me and we go tumbling to the ground. The impact winds me and pain lances though me. I feel dampness against my side and know the wound has been reopened. I kick and pull at the net that's still around Jet's arm in a desperate attempt to get him off me. He head-butts me in the face, hitting my nose, and my vision blurs as tears well in my eyes. I knee him in the gut and keep trying to push him off me but he has his free hand twisted in my jacket, locking us together. He smashes the side of my face with his elbow. A punch to the gut clips the wound on my side and I scream in pain.

Dove hauls him off me by the back of his jacket and the net on his arm. He twists and slashes out with the machete, cutting her on the shoulder. She grabs the trident's shaft and pulls the weapon out of him, widening the wound in his side.

This gives me enough time to scramble to my feet. Dove has retreated a safe distance, sword at the ready and blood coursing down her arm. Jet is bent double, clutching at the gaping wound in his side, his neck exposed. I can feel the dampness of blood flowing from the wound to my side. I take my sword in both hands and step forwards. I bring it down.

My wrists are jarred on the impact and the blade cleaves through his neck, scraping against bone before finding weaker flesh. His head is lopped off. The wound is ragged and gushing blood. His body collapses to the ground and his head rolls down a shallow incline before coming to a rest, leaves in his hair and wide eyes staring at me. I swear that he blinks at me as the cannon fire booms dully in the background.

I step back, away from the two bodies on the forest floor, turn, and walk a couple of paces before vomiting up my lunch of roasted trout. The spasms make the wound in my side bleed even more. I can hear the sound of Dove vomiting as well and that sets my stomach off again. I vomit and wretch a couple more times until there's only bile.

I start towards the river. Dove joins me a few moments later and wordlessly hands me my trident. She has a fistful of gauze pressed to her shoulder. We stick to the stream, passing the trap and the remains of the cooking fire.

There's a persistent feeling like I want to say something. Anything. A quip or a eulogy, either would work. But the words stick in my throat. I killed a twelve year old girl. Then I decapitated an eighteen year old boy. And he blinked at me. In a span of two minutes, maybe three, I just ended District 12's chances of having a Victor this year.

I have to stop and wretch again. Moving seems like a rather difficult task. I sink to the bank of the stream. Dove kneels beside me. "Did he hit your side?"

Nodding is the largest response I have the energy for. Once again, Dove helps me lift up my shirt and we rewrap my side in gauze. Surely there will be more sponsors for me now.

I wash the tacky, dried blood off my face. My nose is not broken, despite the pain and swelling. The blood comes from a split upper lip. I then wash the blood off of my trident and my sword so I can sheath them properly again. Since we've stopped, I say to Dove, "Let me look at your shoulder."

The cut on her shoulder is shallow but no doubt painful. I wrap it tightly in gauze to stop the bleeding. Dove then soaks some gauze in the cold water from the stream and presses it to my face to try to make the swelling go down. I am not going to get any sponsors on looks at the moment. Violence makes up for that.

It grows dark and we have to put our night vision glasses on to see the ground ahead of us. The glasses sit uncomfortably on my swollen nose. We go to get Dove's pack first then start downstream to get mine. Dove's voice is quiet. "Down to the final seven. When should we split up?"

The games could last another week or more. The longest games ever lasted 32 days. But going over the three week mark is rather rare. It leaves too much dead time where the tributes are just kids.

We're both injured and Dove's saved my life twice now. Splitting up doesn't make much sense yet, at least not for my benefit. The wound to my side will kill me without someone else around to help tend to it or help me if I pass out again. I shrug. "When we're down to the final four. Or if they call for a feast."

That should give me enough time to either recover or pass the point of no return, the wound killing me after all.

"Okay."

We find my pack in the trees and I get it down with my trident. I sling it over my shoulder and we keep walking. We should stop to eat and drink and get some sleep, but we both just keep moving. My steps are more of a shuffle and the going is slow. Food would not stay down and sleep would be fitful. We both have half full canteens we take small sips from as we keep moving downstream.

Dove whispers, "She would have died out here anyways, if you hadn't done anything."

"Wounded or not." Is my reply.

Such a poor justification for my actions.

She was twelve. But she tried to fight and I must commend her for that. Honestly, if she had stabbed me, my survival would be unlikely. The knife was long and would have pierced something vital with enough force. Deep wounds to the gut are rarely, if ever, survivable under the best of circumstances, let alone in the arena. Already as weak as I am, I have little blood left to bleed. My action was in self-defense. Against a twelve year old.

It was a kindness, killing her as quickly as I could.

Sure, kindness.

Dove is still whispering. "Better you than someone like Eris."

I want to remind her I am someone like Eris. Sure, I'm not as cruel or as full of blood lust, but I'm a career too. I can't figure out if she truly realizes that. Maybe she is starting to now and trying to ignore it.


	18. Chapter 18

**Day 11**

**Lynn Rayna**  
**District 4, Female Tribute**

The anthem begins. I stop and stare up at the sky. The seal is replaced by Jet's portrait. At least he doesn't blink at me this time. A moment later his portrait is replaced by Mary's. She wouldn't have survived for long out there without Jet. I gave her as painless of a death as I could. The seal returns and the anthem plays again. I jog a few paces to catch up with Dove and we keep walking.

We reach the spot where the river widens and gets shallower. I do not trust my footing in the dark, even with the night vision glasses on. Dove says, "Let's cross in the morning. How is your side?"

"Hurts. How about your arm?"

"Hurts."

We find a little hollow behind the tree line and settle down. I shrug off my jacket and Dove helps unwind the gauze from around my torso. There's blood on the innermost layers but at least it didn't bleed through to my shirt. We have to soak the gauze in water to get it off me and even then it still hurts. We use some of the rubbing alcohol that Luke sent with the extra bandages to sterilize the open parts of the wound where the massive network of scabs has cracked. Most of the pain had to have come from shock rather than more serious damage.

While we're at it, we unwrap Dove's arm and wash her wound as well. We use the last of the gauze wrapping my torso and Dove's arm back up. I set to work cutting off the bloodied pieces of gauze off of the old wrappings. My knife is not made for cutting fabric, so it takes a while to get the technique right. The serrated edge at the base is made for sawing wood or rope and keeps getting snagged on the loose gauze threads.

I'm sure our alliance has a decent amount of sponsor money, especially since I did get two very dramatic kills today. Still, the old gauze can still be used to hold other bandages in place without any risk of infection and there's no sense in being wasteful.

As I cut away the soiled parts, Dove takes the gauze strips and winds them into neat little bundles, organizing them by length across her lap. When we're done, we split the pieces between our packs. After that, we take out the remains of our food and line up the packets. Two packets of fruit. Easy split. Three packets of crackers. One and one, with the third set aside for as much of a dinner as either of us can manage to eat. Dove somehow wound up with a packet of fish jerky, which I exchange for a packet of peppered turkey. Then it's a beef and a grousling each.

This gives us two, almost three days of food each. It could be stretched to closer to five if rationed. Organizing the supplies gives our mentors a clear view of our resources and they can anticipate having to send us anything. Remaining by the river will allow me to fish which will extend our supplies.

After all of our things are packed away, I pull out a blanket and drape it around us. Dove and I wind up sitting shoulder to shoulder with our backs pressed against a tree and our packs resting at our feet.

It is almost peaceful like this. There are a few birds calling. I remember Dove naming the birds before and ask, "Do you know what kinds of birds are singing?"

She does know. There is Marsh Wren again as well as a few high pips from a Killdeer. A low mournful sound comes from the Nightingale. A sound like a chorus of all the others comes from a Mockingjay.

I listen to the birds and Dove's quiet voice. If only it could stay like this for the rest of time. Just the two of us and the birds. I think I'd like that. We could tear down the arena around us, piece by piece. Like Achilles and Patroclus could have done to sacred Illion had they been the only ones of the Greeks left.

* * *

**Luke Seymour**  
**District 4**  
**Victor of the 77th Hunger Games, Mentor of Lynn Rayna**

Emily has a cup of strong coffee and a scone waiting at my seat for me. I take my seat and down half the cup, only scalding myself slightly. It gets rid of some of the hangover. With how much Capitol citizens drink, a hangover cure is a logical priority that has never been realized. Or perhaps the cure is to never stop drinking. At least I got a couple more sponsors out of the ordeal.

All the talk last night was of the time one minute and forty-seven seconds. Lynn now holds the record for the fastest set, killing both tributes from District 12. Less than two minutes passed between plunging her sword into the girl's neck and loping the boy's head off. 

Lynn's side wound still worries me. Infection is a constant risk and it has bled a lot. Her blood pressure is unstable. The medicine for treating blood loss is expensive and the price has risen sharply because it is what she needs right now. I've got a couple agreements going that if she makes another kill several large sponsorships will come in, enough to send her another dose.

There's almost enough without those ones. If I push the fact she's the new set record holder that might bring in a few more.

Some of the "Games enthusiasts" like to keep records. One particular one is the set, when both tributes from the same District are killed by the same tribute. Most non-Career District pairs do not last long, and if they do the pack hunts them down and they get killed by different pack members.

The last record was around thirty minutes when Feldspar killed both of District 1's tributes in the melee. Not counting Beetee Laiter's electric trap, since the boy from District 2 drowned and it was counted as a natural death even though the unconsciousness was due to the electric trap.

Lynn's record is one minute and forty-seven seconds. The boards are already calling her 147 Rayna. At least it's good for sponsorships.

The main feed is focused on the remains of the Cornucopia where Tweed has firmly settled himself. Flax has gotten closer and they are likely to run into each other within the hour. A bet is going around as to whether or not the two will form an alliance or try to kill each other.

I check the focus feed on Lynn and find her just how I left her, fishing in the river from the south bank. She's managed to catch four large trout during my absence. That alone has probably attracted sponsors and the expert way she breaks them down, her knife work quick a sure, will draw others.

Michael mutters angrily to himself as he scrolls through something displayed on a tablet. Elektra is smirking into her coffee cup so whatever has Michael in a tizzy can't be too serious. I take a bite out of my scone and frown because it's blueberry and I hate blueberry. Emily returns from wherever she was and glares at me. "Why are you eating my breakfast?"

I swallow and reply, "Because you so kindly left it at my seat." I offer her the scone. "You can have this back, I'm keeping the coffee through."

She rolls her eyes and accepts the scone. She then gestures to Michael and says, "Couple poll results."

We are down to the final seven so distinctive camps are forming as to the romantic lives of the remaining tributes. There are very few things that the Capitol loves more than a tragic romance. It's a dangerous game to encourage it. After the upset of the 74th Games, being part of a couple is a very dangerous thing for a tribute, particularly if a petition starts. Some of the wide eyed romantics in the Capitol have attempted to recreate the dual Victors again by starting petitions to allow a couple to live. Whenever that happens and the couple reaches the final four, within around 30 minutes or so, one is killed brutally by Gamemaker traps or mutts. It's happened three times already, not including what happened in the 75th Games, so mentors have learned to not encourage romances.

I spin in my chair and down the rest of the coffee. The couple poll explains the leap in smaller sponsorship donations to the alliance. The 2 and 3 solidi donations will be coming from the pockets of young romantics who have not saved up much due to wasting their money every year.

According to Emily, the polls during my game had paired me up with Fleur, the girl from District 1. The relationship ended when I speared her through the gut with a javelin. That had been a really good throw too.

There's nothing we can really do about poll trends. Even dropping hints about a lover at home does not dissuade them. If anything, it can act as encouragement, because the romance is that much more forbidden. That must be part of what's happening here, since Dove mentioned a serious boyfriend/fiance back home. Lynn also apparently has a crush on someone. I don't know who. All I know is not-Devon.

I wave my hand between Michael's face and the screen to get his attention and ask, "Are they in first?"

"No." 

I snatch the tablet from Michael's hands and point out, "Then don't worry about it."

I glance down at the poll to see who is in first. It's Tweed and Flax. Same District, and Tweed is currently in the running for final four. Their mentors are the ones that need to be worried, not us. Lynn and Dove are in second place for the poll, a rather distant second, which is good for sponsors but safe for our tributes. Third place is Eris and Cassius. Fourth is Silk and Cassius. Looks like Cassius has somehow become a heartthrob. For his sake, I hope he does not live to deal with the consequences of that.

Since I already have the tablet, I flip over to the comment boards. A few posts are about the new set record. 

I hand the tablet back to Michael and focus my attention on the screens again. Lynn is gutting the fish she caught. She tosses the entrails at Dove, who recoils and shouts at her, "That is disgusting!"

Lynn laughs and keeps throwing discarded fish parts at Dove. Dove winds up scooping up a tail fin and throws it back. She can hold her own against Lynn's antics. That practically makes her a proper career. A good and a bad thing. She's a strong ally but that makes her a threat as well.

The two of them seem to be coping better today than last night. Yesterday was brutal. They didn't show the footage of the girls' reactions. Vomiting at the sight of a severed head a far too human response for the Capitol to want to see. They just replayed the brief fight, showing select parts in slow motion to dissect Lynn's technique. Not her cleanest work.

The fact she fought as well as she did given the gaping wound in her side it more than enough for me.

Lynn's face is still swollen from the blows she took to the face, an ugly purple-green bruise mottles her left cheek, and her split lip keeps reopening. I could send her something, but the injuries ward away some of the unsavory sponsors and will encourage her to remain cautious. She has been able to treat the worst of the swelling with a wad of gauze soaked in cool river water, held up to her face as needed.

The alliance sponsor total increases by another couple of solidi. At this rate, in another couple of hours, we should be able to send them some more supplies. Mainly food in case they begin to travel again.

For now, it will be better if they stay put.

Since they are in a good position, I could head out again later today. I could go after some of the gamblers. I don't bother with them often, but some are associates with Cassie. I'll move once the hangover goes away.


	19. Chapter 19

**Day 12**

**Khaleesi "Cassie" Storm**  
**Capitol Citizen**  
**Mutt Designer**

The evening is winding down nicely. The crowd around the arena is small. The floor is being cleared for a swarm round. A few patrons are further in the back, lounging around the viewing screens running the games footage. It is mandatory viewing after all.

Lynn and Dove have not really been doing much of interest lately. Fishing and lounging around the river have been the sum of their activities. The highlight has been Lynn attempting to teach Dove spearfishing to very little success but it proved amusing enough for them to get some consistent footage on the main channel.

I lean back in my seat and survey the crowd below. There are most of the regulars. Mr. Hart has a new lady hanging off his arm. Perhaps the marriage will last more than a month this time. The Brightrivers are both present, their wigs matching shades of emerald green this season. Mr. Brightriver pulls the look of far better. They have a guest with them. Is that really Melissa?

That is Melissa Swan, District 10's escort. We went to the same finishing school, though we were never friends. She looks nice. Oh, but that leather jacket is so last season. I would think she could afford better clothing with her salary.

Given how much I've spent sponsoring Lynn, I might wind up being to sympathize with her on that front. I do have a couple of old staples that will have to live up to that title. Winter will be covered at least with Agrippa's new collection coming out.

I could create a new domestic line. That would cover the costs of things. I've been toying with a lion cub design. Once the genome is finalized, I could it go into production within two weeks. The only thing slowing me down is how difficult neoteny is to work with. A lot of health complications, especially for designs not meant to be simple fads. I want these lines to live for than just a few weeks.

There's a new feline trend because of that fanged cougar mutt that took out the girl from 11. I don't want to look like I'm pandering to a fad. Nix the lion cub for now.

I'm never selling my dragons to the public. I'm good with reptiles, though. How similar are the pigments between beetles and reptiles? I could get a similar color to the scarabs produced by lizards. Or snakes. No, lizards are smaller and easier to care for so they'll sell better. Could target the preteen demographic. 

A staff member approaches me and says, "Your guest has returned, Mrs. Storm."

I give a nod of acknowledgment and the staff member returns to their other duties. Luke remains, still looking out of place. I motion at the seat next to me and comment, "I'm surprised to see you here again."

He takes the seat. He is tense and his smile is forced. "I've had a long day. This place is a lot calmer than anywhere I frequent. Just wanted to take a moment to breathe."

We sit in silence for a while. The swarm round begins. Jay has his beloved hedgehog mutts. Some must have matured in time. They are going up against some centipede mutts from a name I don't fully recognize. Christine Tiber. I vaguely know of the family. Her brother is a trauma surgeon and got hired as one of the Victor recovery surgeons last year. Their father frequents the arena side down here, a rather unlucky gambler, and therefore very welcome.

The hedgehog mutts move like a pack of wolves on their unnaturally long legs. They tear into the centipede mutts just as ravenously as well.

I turn to Luke. He watches the arena. Some of the tenseness has gone away. His shoulders have relaxed. I have to ask, "The violence doesn't bother you?"

He turns to me. The question apparently amused him judging by the smirk. "Not at all. Violence is what I'm good at. I understand it."

I've never had an actual conversation with a Victor before. I've briefly met several others at various functions and parties. I have no idea if this should be considered a strange sentiment or not.

Luke returns his focus to the arena, leaning forward and resting his chin on hand.

Some of the hedgehog mutts are convulsing on the ground. Poison. A good trap against something that kills by biting.

Luke asks, "The designers, what do most of them do normally?"

"Most design pets." I try to recall the ones that aren't my professional competitors. "Some of the younger ones want to be Games designers. A few used to be Games designers, Rochester and Maxwell are both here tonight."

He nods. "The gamblers, what sort are they? I recognize a few."

"Anyone with money, honestly. I could always make introductions if you'd like."

Luke looks over at me and smiles. "I just might take you up on that." He checks his watch. "Later, though. I have to get going. I'll be seeing you around, Cassie."

Just like that, he's gone. He's strange, but then again, he's is from the Districts. I can't expect him to be completely civilized.

* * *

**Day 13**

**Lynn Rayna**  
**District 4, Female Tribute**

The electric stove has finally died. It was a noble hunk of metal and plastic that now permanently smells like slightly charred fish. Dove decides to keep it. "The parts might be useful. Even if I just wind up chucking it as Eris' stupid face."

It begins to rain, a sudden shower that appeared out of nowhere. I throw my pack over my shoulder and head to the tree line. Dove joins me and we look up at the light grey sky that had been blue moments before. The air feels wrong. There was no preamble of humidity and wind. Gamemaker weather. I guess they disagree with Eris' face being stupid.

It begins to rain harder, forcing us further back into the trees, away from the river. I zip up my jacket and pull the hood over my head to try and ward off most of the damp. Fishing and napping on the river bank got boring for the audience. A pity. I enjoyed it.

Dove grumbles a bit. "Too bad we don't have a tent."

The tents had all been used for the canopy on the Cornucopia and we could not take any without being obvious about it. Having one would have been nice though.

Our mentors do not take the hint, or are more concerned about something important we don't know about. That seems a bit more likely. Still wish we had a tent.

I pull the collar of my jacket in tighter. There's no band to secure the neck closed and a few droplets have gotten down my shirt already. Weather often forces tributes into conflict seeking shelter. The forest may still be our safest option. "Some of the trees further west looked like they might have the soil washed away from the roots. We might be able to hunker down there."

I don't trust the Cornucopia ruins. The rest of the pack may still be using it as their base, or might be heading over there because of the rain.

We trudge across increasingly slippery ground as the water makes the fallen leaves slick. The rain just gets heavier. I get drenched despite the jacket. A few rips and tears in the leather, as well as the poor design, mean it turns out to be rather ineffective at keeping me dry. The temperature drops as well but not to the frost producing levels it did on the third night.

Dove and I stick to the trees, using the trunks to shelter us from the worst of the wind and rain.

We find a few larger trees with washed out roots. None are large enough to fit us both and getting separated just seems like a bad idea, even if we will be parting soon enough anyways.

A massive oak tree with branches so large they touch the ground winds up being out shelter. The ground is wet and squishy. I perch on one of the roots and lean back against the tree trunk.

The rain continues to fall.

Dove remains on the ground. She looks up at me and asks, "What are storms like in District 4? The big ones."

"They are monsters. Great and terrible. They dash houseboats against the docks and force everyone to retreat inland. They wind up bringing people together because of that. Warehouses get turned into shelters when storms roll in. Everyone from the same pier will set up tents and bedrolls in groups together." I pause, looking up at the stormy sky above. This is not like those storms at home. This is a mutt, not a force of nature. "We get together and work on repairing the nets and sails. Couples will embroider or weave trinkets for each other. And after the storm has passed, everyone works together to repair the damage."

Dove nods. "It's kind of the same in 5. The solar panels get shielded and the planners always argue about which wind turbines to leave up and which to take down. After a storm is always a good time to get some extra work since so many repairs have to be made."

The storm continues and we sit together, thinking of our homes.

A cannon shot shatters the quiet. I jump, reflexively grabbing my trident. I can barely see in the gloom. I fumble for the night vision glasses in my jacket pocket. Slipping them on, things become clearer. There is nothing in the dark other than the trees and undergrowth. With the canopy overhead I have no chance of spotting the hovercraft taking the body away.

The floor of our little hollow is more of a puddle now. I keep my voice low. "Let's move again. We can try further to the west."

Dove does not protest. I rearrange my equipment, settling my pack firmly at the center of my back. Knife on my right hip, the spare slipped into my boot, sword on my left hip. My quiver with the lone javelin is within easy reach, leaning to my right. My trident will remain in hand.

We head out into the rain and gloom once more. The wind picks up and howls around us. I keep my head down and stubbornly continue towards the west. It is obvious the Gamemakers are pushing for the endgame. A feast announcement will be coming soon if we don't all get close enough to kill each other seeking shelter from the rain.

Between reaching the final six and the likelihood of a fest announcement, it seems the alliance I have with Dove is reaching the end.

The rain lets up only a bit as we approach a small clearing. The anthem begins and we stop.

The gap in the trees is large enough to see the sky. The seal appears. Then the portrait of Eris replaces it.

I was expecting Flax or maybe Cassius. But not Eris. Who killed her? Or what?

The portrait is replaced by the seal. Rather than the anthem, trumpets sound. The voice of Gemus Laurel booms around us. "Ladies and gentlemen, a feast will be held at the Cornucopia at noon. However, there will be more to this feast than food. There are supplies some of you need dearly, so consider carefully before turning down this invitation."

The anthem plays and the seal disappears. The rain fades as well.

Noon. We can reach the Cornucopia by then if we start walking that direction now. Wait, not we. I look over at Dove. I can't quite read her expression with the night vision glasses covering her eyes. I'm uncertain as to what exactly I should say. We agreed that the alliance would end when they make a feast announcement or we reached the final four. The feast has been announced. I don't want to leave her yet. "How about we walk towards the Cornucopia together. Once we see the walkways, we split. I'll go east, you go west. And hopefully we don't see each other again after that."

She laughs at that. It's a strained sound. "That should work."

We don't say anything more. We just walk towards the Cornucopia. We've been constant companions for two weeks now.

I dread what will have to come next. It is a plan that came easily when I did not know Dove well. A concept I had toyed with since I realized the value of betraying allies out here.

But we won't be allies. That makes it okay.

No, that lie to far too blatant to settle my thoughts. This will not be okay.

Dove's voice emanating from the gloom startles me, "So, do you want to talk? Or is that..."

She does not finish the question. I understand what she is trying to get at. One of us is going to die. Being close to each other is not a good thing. Talking makes us closer.

There is no real precedent for this. I try to recall any games with alliances like this. They have happened. Alliances turned to friendships. It never ended well. They tend to be popular with sponsors, the bleeding hearts mostly.

"Sure." I keep my voice low, because I do not know what lurks in the woods. Being interesting will keep the worst of the Gamemakers surprises away from us. "What do you want to talk about?"

She does not answer for a long while. The only sounds are the rain and our footsteps. Eventually she asks, "What's your favorite color?"

"Aqua. That's why I picked it for my Reaping dress. What's yours?"

She nods. "Purple. I had a stuffed cat toy that was purple when I was little."

Even that's too personal. We stop trying.


	20. Chapter 20

**Day 14**

**Lynn Rayna**   
**District 4, Female Tribute**

"So." Dove stands facing me, eyes downcast. "This is it."

"I go east, you go west, as agreed."

"Odds be ever in your favor, Lynn."

"Odds be ever in your favor, Dove."

I turn and start walking east, towards the marsh and reeds. I can hear Dove walking in the other direction.

The sun hangs high in the sky, almost at the zenith. Noon is nearly here. There's time enough to try and set up an ambush. But I have something else I've been planning.

A minute of walking to take me out of sight. I turn back. I head a bit north to hide myself in the trees. I sheath my trident and take out my sole remaining javelin. I tried to teach Dove how to spearfish using the javelin. She was really bad at it. Never could adjust to the fact you can't aim straight at the fish, since the water shifts the light and the fish is not where is appears to be.

Dove is up ahead. Her shoulders are hunched and her hood is still drawn up. Her pack protects her back. My javelin could punch through the material but the wound would likely not prove fatal.

A cannon shot rips through the air. Someone had an ambush that worked. Dove jumps and looks around. I freeze, making myself just another shadow in the trees. She keeps moving, more quickly now.

I have to get close enough to her and have her face me. She's crossing clear ground. If I sprint, I can get in range. I move, swift and silent as I can manage.

The distance between us closes. I call out her name, "Dove!"

My voice cracks.

She's not my ally anymore. She's just another tribute.

She starts to turn, calling out, "Lynn?"

I throw. She does not have time to react before my javelin bites into her stomach. She stumbles back, clutching at the wound. I slow my sprint to a quick jog and draw my knife.

The knife was the one that Silk got my arm with. It is the knife that Dove removed from my arm.

Dove sinks to the ground. There are tears streaming down her face. 

I'm a few feet away from her now. I stop. I don't know what to do now. There are a lot of things I can do but nothing seems right. The wound will kill her. There's no medicine that can fix the blood and acid and bacteria that is flooding her abdomen.

"Why?" Dove's voice is strained with pain.

I don't have a good answer to her question. I really don't. So I say, "I can end it."

She whimpers. "Can you sit with me?"

"Yeah."

I go over to her and kneel down next to her. I pull her onto my lap, as gentle as I can. She cries out in pain at the movement. It is my turn to hug her and comfort her. I stroke her hair and hold her tight. I tell her I'm sorry. I am so sorry. My knife is still in my hand and it is a simple matter to draw the blade across her throat. The wound is deep and her cannon fires a few seconds later.

I lower her to the ground before me. I close her eyes and wipe the tears off her cheeks. There's a loose strand of hair that managed to escape the confines of her hood. I tuck it behind her ear. Dove Dunn, finest of the career pack, finest of the Myrmidons. May she walk in Elysium.

I stand, my legs a bit shaky. I wipe the knife off on my jacket. I'm already covered in her blood so a little more doesn't really matter. When the knife is clean, I return it to the sheath at my hip. I leave the javelin behind. I couldn't take it. No, just no. I am tired of the scent of bile.

I set out at a slow jog towards the Cornucopia. My vision goes a little blurry but I wipe away the tears and breathe. There's no one else I care about in this arena. I'm more than okay with killing all of them.

A walkway comes into view and I keep to the tall grasses. There's no one in sight, but that doesn't mean all that much. Some combination of Silk, Cassius, Tweed, and his District partner Flax, I finally remember her name, are still alive. One of them is dead. Which one of them doesn't really matter at the moment.

I dart under the cover of the walkway. I can hear footsteps and shuffling somewhere above me. I reach the water and dive in. Only a small splash will signal my presence to whoever is above. If they heard it, they'll know I'm one of the ones alive.

The water is clear, filtered by the roots of all of the trees and reeds and grasses. There is nothing of interest that I can see below me. Just roots and a distant bottom, some fifteen feet below me. I pop my head above the water, ready to retreat back below the surface. Parts of the platform and walkways were burned severely enough that they collapsed in places, including the area in front of me. I crane my neck to see around the edge. The feast table is on the ground by the collapsed section. 

Someone shouts, "Quit hiding weasel face!"

The voice is male and not Cassius' so that must be Tweed.

"Hey, I said I was sorry for slitting your girl's throat. Why can't you just let bygones be bygones?" Comes Cassius' voice in reply.

He's somewhere off to my right while Tweed is above me. That would make Tweed the source of the steps on the walkway. Cassius is somewhere on the ground then. Based on his comment, Flax's cannon was the one that fired earlier.

The two of them are obviously distracted which means I should make my move soon. There's food out on the table, as well as a few small backpacks. The feast table is in disarray so some supplies have already been taken. The packs are all labeled by District number. The pack with 4 embossed on it still sits on the table, though on its side now, next to some cookies.

I swim over to the opposite shore and climb out of the safety of the water. I press myself against the charred platform boards. I can see the edge of a pair of boots under one of the other collapsed sections of walkway. It is to my right so it could be Cassius or it could be Silk and she's remaining silent.

Trident firmly in hand, I dart forward, scoop up my pack and a couple cookies and a little cake and make a run for it back under the collapsed platform parts. There's a shout of surprise from Cassius. I dodge around the water, not knowing if the contents of my feast pack are water proof or not. The cookies certainly aren't.

I stick to remaining under the walkways, my speed slowed by the cloying mud. Once I'm on drier ground, I just keep running, aiming for the high grasses. I reach the grasses and duck down, completely concealed but unable to really see much.

Even with the cover, I keep running until my lungs are burning and my legs are jelly. I flop down onto the ground and bend enough of the grasses over to make myself a little hollow. I catch my breath. I look up. It's about half past noon.

The grass rustles and I tense, moving to a crouch. I turn back towards the direction I came from. The sounds of my own movement through the grass would have obscured any sounds of pursuit. No one appears so I let myself relax for a moment.

I eat a couple of the cinnamon cookies and take a swig of water. I put the rest of the cookies as well as the cake inside a few of the packets that had contained the dried fruit. I readjust some things and sling my new pack over my shoulder.

A cannon shot breaks the silence. I look east to the Cornucopia. Cassius, Tweed, or Silk? It takes the hovercraft around a minute to appear. The body has short hair. So not Silk. There's no telling if it's Cassius or Tweed though.

I keep moving, deeper into the grasses. By around one in the afternoon, the Cornucopia is out of sight. I then start to the north. This is not an entirely different path from the one the pack traveled the second day. There's a small stream separating the grasses and the forest. I can stop there to refill my nearly empty canteen.

It takes about three hours to reach the stream. I must have been traveling more south than I thought I was when I fled from the Cornucopia.

I refill my canteen, drink half of it, and refill it again. I devour the remaining cookies and the little apple-berry cake. Full and, relatively speaking, safe, I finally check out the contents of my new pack. It's clothing of some kind. I pull it out. It looks like a silver wet suit at first but the material is all wrong. It's too stiff and there's weird black paneling.

Then it makes sense. Careers tend to get body armor in the special feasts. They have had food and weapons the whole time. Body armor gives that extra edge. And that's what they gave me. Other than the silver material, there are some additional thicker armor sections done in the black, like a carapace that will go around my torso.

I move back into the tall grass again and strip down to my underwear. They've already seen me in my bra, they do not need to see me in only underwear. I'm not inviting that kind of attention to be directed at me.

The bandages around my torso from the side wound are not stained but I dare not touch them. As long as Luke does not send me any kind of antibiotic or blood loss medication again, I know the wound is not immediately life threatening.

I slip on the armor. It fits me like a glove. The material did not seem like it would stretch like that. Capitol tech, I guess, and Agrippa's input. I step back into the open. The cameras can see me now.

The silver material makes up only the base of the armor, the main focus is the black parts. My whole front is protected, extending from neck to waist in interlocking pieces. There's a panel protecting my lower back. On my forearms and shins are the equivalent of bracers and greaves. There's also a pair of new boots in the pack. These ones do not go up so high and will not cover up the greaves. They can't hold my spare knife, not tall enough, so I'll just keep the one.

I secure my belt to my waist, sword at my left hip, knife at my right, and add a canteen and small pouch filled with my remaining beef jerky, plus the night vision glasses. I carry my trident. There is no reason to take anything else. There's only one or two days left based on previous games that have gotten to the feast stage. My grey backpack and old clothes are of no real use anymore. I do take a bundle of gauze and shove it in the pouch with the jerky. Gauze if never a bad thing to have.

Getting back behind the tree line again, I look for low hanging branches. I come across a large oak tree and swing myself up. The boots are not the best for climbing which makes it slow going. Once I'm a good fifteen feet up, I settle in close to the tree trunk and survey the Cornucopia area. From this angle and distance, there's not all that much I can make out. The walkways leading in this direction is still whole, a bit singed maybe. The walkway east is collapsed, along with that section of the main platform.

Someone is walking on the platform. Short brown hair. Both Cassius and Tweed have brown hair that doesn't help anything.

Silk could be anywhere right now. I have no idea if she has even been to the feast.

The surviving boy has taken over the Cornucopia. He steps over something. He's stepping over a lot of somethings, weaving his way across the platform. Weird.

I settle myself against the trunk and prepare to wait until nightfall. I still have the night vision glasses. I pull them out a fiddle with them a bit before stowing them in my pack again. Just to tip off the Gamemakers to my plan so I don't get attacked by mutts for being boring.

* * *

**Luke Seymour**   
**District 4**   
**Victor of the 77th Hunger Games, Mentor of Lynn Rayna**

Michael still sits at his station, staring at the now black screen. Elektra has tried to get him to move with no success. Dove's death came as a surprise to him. 

It had to be done. I'm just glad Lynn could manage to do it. The two had gotten dangerously close to each other. There have been mixed reactions from sponsors. The impartial ones are just pleased by another kill on her list. The romantics are devastated and arguing amongst themselves as to if Lynn's feeling were true. At least it gets her name out there.

I turn back to my own screen. Lynn crushes the night vision glasses under her boot and snarls in frustration. They had gotten fried when she dove into the water. She has only now realized it while testing them in the growing gloom. She retreats further back into the forest. 

Her strategy would have worked save for the night vision glasses breaking. I pull up the sponsor gifts tab. The price is more than the trident was. Individually increased by the Gamemakers. They are pushing for a daylight finale.

All Lynn has to do is last until morning. Then the games will enter their final hour.

I down my sixth, no seventh, cup of coffee. Lynn hasn't slept in over a day and neither have I. Even if she does get some sleep, I'm staying awake. She might need something.

This is the furthest one of my tributes has gotten since Gull. Lynn could actually do it. But both of her opponents are ranged fighters. Throwing knives and poisoned darts. The armor has left her hands and face exposed and I know Silk has good enough aim to get her in the eye with a knife given the chance.

The wound to her side is still of constant concern. There might be just enough funds to send another dose of blood loss medication, assuming the price doesn't spike again.

I lean back in my chair and just stare at the focus feed. The moonlight is bright enough for Lynn to move slowly through the forest without tripping too much. She finds a tree with massive roots and wedged herself between two of them, her back and sides protected. She lays her trident across her lap and stares out into the near darkness.

Emily takes her seat beside me and sets another cup of coffee on my desk. She's holding one herself.

Her voice sounds as calm as I wish I felt. "I can watch her, too, you know."

"I know."

She's been through this more than I have and times like these the difference is more obvious. I can't sleep. Not when it's this close to the end. But Emily is still my mentor and I know she's only looking out for me. "If Lynn falls asleep, I'll try to take a nap. Deal?"

"Deal. And I will hold you to that."

I know she will.

The anthem starts and Lynn's head snaps sky wards. It is Cassius that appears first. He is followed by Dove. The look of pain that crosses Lynn's face is heartbreaking. That poll might have was wrong about the first place, but in some way they were right about second place. The two of them grew to be close friends.

Flax's portrait is the last one but Lynn is not looking.

The fifteenth day begins with Lynn in tears, huddled in the forest, alone.

The phone starts ringing. I answer and it is Min's voice on the other end. "How much would it be to get Lynn a piece of taffy?"

Down to the final three, it will be a lot. I scroll through the list and find saltwater taffy under the luxury items. One piece is 10 solidi. 500 argentum. Enough to feed a family for weeks. I relay the price and Min says, "Hang on."

I can hear a bunch of different voices in the background, hollering amounts. It sounds like they're at the market. By the sweet shop since that's where the phone is. Most of the voices I can recognize are my Otters. It seems they've been doing well selling things to the Capitol citizens at the resort the past few days. A tradition of sorts has developed within the group to raise enough money for a small gift for whoever is left in the arena towards the end.

I can overhear some of the chatter. Hyacinth asks, "Where are they?"

Min replies, "Said they weren't going to come. Lynn avoids them for a reason."

Hyacinth scoffs. "Still. Not even a nummus?"

I knew those kids were lying when they said they didn't know why Lynn avoids her family.

When the consensus has been reached of who's able to pitch in what, Min says into the phone, "We've got it."

"Okay. Bring it to the Justice Building and it will be transferred over."

It takes five minutes for the funds to be transferred to Lynn's account. I send the gift. Lynn looks up at the silver parachute and catches it without even having to get up.

She cradles it for a moment before opening it to reveal the single piece of strawberry flavored saltwater taffy. A smile spreads across her face, breaking through the tears. She's on the main feed now, a camera focused on her face. She looks up and whispers, "Thank you. Calm seas to all of you."

Some Capitol sponsorships come in. I need to get Lynn something practical. The taffy is good for moral, which matters, but won't help her in a fight. I check the prices for the various types of rope and cord. The prices are high this year, since Tweed has gotten all the rope from the Cornucopia and Lynn displayed her ability to make rope earlier. Getting some is a goal, at least.

Lynn eats her taffy and tucks her head between her knees. Her breathing slows and she dozes even if she does not sleep.

Emily turns to me and gives me a pointed look. I consider pointing out that Lynn is not yet technically asleep and so I don't have to take a nap. But I am tired and the caffeine stopped working on me years ago.

Emily has been mentoring longer than I have and got me out alive, but I still say, "Get her some rope if the total gets high enough. Or the blood loss medication if her blood pressure drops again. Cassie's number is the top right hand if funds are too low."

She has the good grace not to point out her seniority. "Got it. Go get some sleep, you'll want to be fresh in the morning. I'll call you over if anything happens."

I pass by Dawn and Jasmine watching over Silk and Nick scrolling through sponsor gifts while Adam takes a nap in his chair.

The cots get dragged out by the fifth night most years. This year was early with Lynn's fire on the third night. I lay down and close my eyes.

The scent of damp stone fills my nostrils. I know I am not in the caves. But with the cavernous ceiling above me and the tension in the air, I may as well be.


	21. Chapter 21

**Day 15**

**Lynn Rayna**   
**District 4, Female Tribute**

Dawn comes slowly. I stand and stretch, trying to get the feeling back in my legs. I got at most two hours of sleep last night, in little fitful bursts. Every sound woke me. Even the nightingale's song sounded frightening, being all alone. A few hours after the taffy, I was sent a coil of rope. Between naps, I made a net.

This night had been my first night alone in the arena. I have the feeling it will be the last night no matter what.

I eat the last of my jerky and drink the last of the water. No point in saving anything. I discard the pouches, leaving me with only weapons and armor.

Time to go.

Going towards the Cornucopia is now a rather familiar sensation. The sun is peaking over the horizon by the time I can see the walkways. I circle over to the east. Fighting with the sun to my back might be the advantage I need.

Silk uses throwing knives. I already have been on the receiving end of one. It is my knife now and I would love to stab her with it.

Tweed fights with I-have-no-idea. He may have even been the one to kill Eris or Cassius.

I have my trident and net, my knife, and my sword. It would be difficult for me to be better armed. A javelin would be nice but there is nothing I can do about that now.

A scream splits the air. Then another and another and another, all human, all in agony. A flock of birds swarms someone in the reeds. Long, black hair. It's Silk. She has been surrounded by Jabber Jays and they are herding her towards the Cornucopia. A few of the screaming bird mutts split off from the flock and dive towards me. I turn and run towards the Cornucopia. It is clear they want the final fight there, no sense in trying to avoid it.

Running through the reed strewn, muddy ground is difficult as it always is. For how much running the Gamamakers have us do, they really did not design an arena good for it. I miss the forest, the ground was solid there.

The Jabber Jays sound like everyone I've killed. Jay and Oak and Mary and Jet and Dove. Their voices scream at me. No words. Just screaming. Normally it's the voices of family members or friends that the Jabber Jays steal. But not for me. Maybe not for Silk, but I cannot tell.

Then actual words break through the screaming. Dove is asking me why. She keeps asking why and I still don't have an answer for her.

Tweed stands on the platform. He's set up a web of ropes that crisscross the structure. He holds a long, thin tube to his mouth. Blow gun. I slow my pace and let Silk get further ahead of me. The Jabber Jays grow thicker around me, a mass of screaming and beating wings that buffet me for my slowed pace. They land on my armor, clinging to the paneling, and scream in my ears. And Dove keeps asking why and I will never have a real answer for her. I scream back to her that I wanted to live and I'm sorry she had to die because of that. The Jabber Jays steal my voice and shout "die" at me.

The screaming that surrounds me is worth it when the Jabber Jays part from around Silk long enough for Tweed to fire a dart. It strikes her. While Tweed has to reload and Silk is suffering the effects of whatever toxin has been injected into her, I take the opportunity sprint back to the pool underneath the platform again.

I dive into the clear water and don't stop until I hit the bottom of the pool. I wait until the count of ten before going back upwards.

The Jabber Jays are gone when I surface. Silk is convulsing on the ground a couple feet away from where she got struck by the dart. What did Tweed put in that thing?

I get out of the water and circle to the back of the platform. I pull myself up. The Cornucopia is the only thing that stands in the way between me and Tweed. That and a lot of rope and string webbing for lack of a better term. Silk's cannon fires. I readjust the grip on my trident.

I start to advance around the side of the Cornucopia. Progress is slow going with all of the ropes and string in the way. Most has been draped over the Cornucopia, forcing me to move towards the edge to make it easier to step over them.

I will not be able to charge properly like this. I switch my trident over to my left hand alongside my net and draw my knife with my right hand. 

The chariot should have had Tweed dressed as a spider, not a serpent.

Tweed calls out, "Come and face me, career!"

Does he even know my name? Or am I just the girl from District 4 to him? The monstrous career with a trident and armor out to kill him. That is all I need to be right now.

The ropes fall in a pattern, guided by the weave in the Cornucopia's surface, and I figure it out well enough to move more quickly. I am quiet but not quiet enough. Tweed comes into view. He does not have the blow gun in hand. Out of darts or out of poison?

He clutches a pair of large knives. They are in a fighter's grip, the spine parallel to his wrist, blades facing outwards. He knows what he's doing but so do I.

I throw the knife and it slices his leg. Not a deep wound, but a painful one. A good distraction.

I charge, bounding over the ropes and string, snapping some and half tripping over others. He stumbles out of the way of my charge and my trident only catches the edge of his jacket.

He closes the distance and tackles me to the ground with a wordless cry. We hit the platform in a tangle of limbs and steel. He tries to slash my face but I twist and the blow skims uselessly across my armor.

Our weight is rather equal but Tweed is a few inches taller than me and has longer limbs. My diet of crackers and jerky has weakened me more than I anticipated. I keep the shaft of my trident between our bodies and push him off and to the side, sliding out from the gap I create. Before I can get back to my feet, Tweed brings a knife down on my right shoulder. It does not cut me but the force of the blow makes pain shoot through my arm anyways, making the limb numb.

His other knife slashes across my forehead. Blood gushes out of the wound and runs into my eyes, blinding me with a curtain of red. He tries to pin me and I wrap my right hand around his throat and squeeze. Through the red I can see his face turning purple. 

His knife saws and stabs at my hand. He drives a knee into my side and I can feel the still present scabs cracking again. I am forced to let him go.

We are silent save for the snarls and growls and gasps that escape our lips. I keep pushing with my left arm, my trident being the only thing keeping him at bay. He slashes again at my face, the most exposed part of me. This blow only barely scraps against the top of my left cheek and skims across the bridge of my nose. More blood to blind me. I can't see at all out of my left eye now.

A kick finds purchase against his already injured thigh and the blow drives him off me. I scramble back and stagger to my feet. I try to wipe the blood out of my eyes but make the mistake of using my right hand and that only makes it worse. I shake my head and send my blood splattering in an arc before me. My eyes are clear for now but I have to keep blinking away the encroaching red. The wounds burn, irritated by my touch.

We are both breathing heavily. The distance remains between us.

"You’re going to die, career." Tweed wheezes, his face still red.

I laugh and don’t know why. "Everyone is going to die one day, Tweed. But I’m not dying today."

I switch my trident to my right hand. It hurts and the grip is weak, but it doesn’t matter for now. I uncoil my net from around my left arm. It is still dripping wet from my earlier retreat into the water.

We begin to circle each other. I make sure to move slowly, not wanting to trip over any of the rope webbing around me. My net is smaller than my first one. I have to get dangerously close to have a chance of trapping him.

Tweed makes it easier by lunging at me. I cast the net and catch his left hand and the knife held in his grasp. I lunge, catching him in the waist with my trident. It is my turn to tackle him now, baring all my weight down on my trident, forcing the prongs deeper into his abdomen.

He goes down and I'm on top him in a clash of blood and flesh and steel and wordless snarls.

Past the returning curtain of red, I see his knife arcing towards the right side of my face this time. The net weighs him down but does not stop him. I jerk away from the strike, trying to save my eye. There's a stabbing pain and all rational thoughts cease for a moment. The only thing that I know is real is pain.

I can feel the metal of the blade against my tongue. The blade went through my cheek. He drags it forward and it exits somewhere around the corner of my lips. The two halves of my cheek flop around and gush blood.

There's blood in my eyes and blood in my mouth. He bucks me off and I take my trident with me. The gaping wound it leaves behind smells like bile.

He lets out a wailing cry. The only sounds I can manage are choked spluttering noises. There's so much blood in my mouth.

Scrambling backwards over blood soaked planks, I keep going until I hit rope. So much pain and so much blood. I'm blinded by and choking on my own blood. My side burns and I know the wound has reopened. Grappling has never been my strength. It's so unfair. Why won't he just die so this can be over?

All I can concentrate on other than pain is the feel of my trident in my right hand, slick with blood that's running down the shaft. His blood and mine. I use it as a crutch to get back into a standing position and listen.

I can hear him moving and see a blurry form as I blink the blood out of my eyes.

I get my trident in a two handed grip again. My right hand does not want to work very well. The fingers twitch.

Oh.

Poison.

The image of Silk convulsing on the ground flashes in my mind. The poison took minutes to kill her. How much time do I have left until the tremors spread further?

Tweed and I stand around five feet apart, bleeding at each other. I spit a glob of congealed blood out of my mouth but more liquid blood just dribbles down my chin. My eyes water and the blood that is washed out of my right eye stays gone.

He has killed other careers, two or three of us. I refuse to be another one. I do not know if it is rage or desperation that swells in my chest. He is a whelp. Like Jay and Oak and Jet and Mary and even Dove. He too will fall. He must. I have killed sharks larger than him.

One last charge. A couple steps even. Close the gap and strike.

I force my body to move forwards. Tweed moves back. My prey will not escape me, I won't let him.

He trips on one last rope, a taut line stretched across the Cornucopia's mouth. A final defense. One that failed him. He falls with a wet thunk and a whimper.

I'm practically on top of him now. He just lies there, a mess of torn clothes and flesh in a growing pool of blood. I drive my trident down into his throat. I tear it back out, take a couple of steps back, and sit down.

All I have to do is outlive him now. That shouldn't be too hard, right? He can only have a few seconds left based on the gurgling, whistling sound that comes out of his throat. Jay made the same noise. Heh, the two of them match. My first kill and my last.

I'm tired and my face feels funny. My cheek keeps flopping around. I need to stay awake. I know that is important when you're hurt. You need to stay awake.

Are my guts falling out? It feels like it. Blood leaking out of the silver parts of my body armor. The wound in my side is bleeding as much as it did when I got it.

Things are fuzzy and my thoughts slow until all I can think about is staying awake. Just stay awake. I won't die if I stay awake.

The cannon fires.

It isn't mine.

The voice of Gemus Laurel fills the air from far, far away. "Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to present the Victor of the Eighty-Seventh Hunger Games, Lynn Rayna of District 4!"

I just won the Hunger Games. Heh. The grin that spreads across my face must be ghastly.

A hovercraft materializes above me. The metal rope ladder drops down in front of me. I push myself to my feet and grab on with only my left hand because my right hand won't work anymore. I can’t let go of my trident.

The current freezes me in place. Blood gushes out of my wounds with renewed vigor.

The ladder pulls me up into the belly of the hovercraft. The same orange eyed nurse that injected me with the tracker leads me to a silver table. I am swarmed by doctors in pristine white. It does not stay white for very long because I'm covered in a lot of blood, and mud too. 

There's lots of needles. It hurts but my face hurts more so it's okay. There’s injections that go into my side. Some of the needles are connected to tubes that pump liquid into my veins.

The orange eyed nurse makes me lay down on a metal table. She tries to take my trident. My right hand still is locked around it and I don’t want to let it go. It’s my trident. She can’t have it.

Something cold flows through the tubes and I start to fall asleep. I shouldn’t fall asleep. I need to stay awake. I'll die if I fall asleep. The darkness takes me anyways.


	22. Chapter 22

**Luke Seymour**   
**District 4**   
**Victor of the 77th Hunger Games, Mentor of Lynn Rayna**

Lynn did it. She survived.

I want to laugh and cry at the same time. She is alive.

Emily wraps me in a hug and she's doing the laughing and crying for the both of us. I hug her back. To our right, Nick screams.

This is followed by the sound of a coffee cup breaking.

The hug breaks and Emily and I both turn to where Nick and Adam are at their console. A second hovercraft has arrived in the arena to take Tweed's body. Nick is on his feet. He screams and swears. Adam just sits there, staring at the flat line of Tweed's dead pulse. Don't blame either of them.

Nick whirls on us. "I did what you did and it's still not enough."

Apparently mentoring Adam doesn't count.

Apart from that oversight, what he says is a very dangerous thing to admit to. There is a deal between District 4 and the Capitol regarding the Polis Program. We sort out conflicts between ports and canneries, provide coast guards, and give them well trained volunteers for their entertainment in the games. In exchange, they let us train those volunteers.

I lock eyes with Nick and say as firmly as I can, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes. You. Do." He spits back, each word punctuated by him grinding his heel in the shards of coffee cup on the floor. "Three. We've had three volunteers in eighty-seven years. The last time you didn't have a volunteer was in sixty-eight."

All three after he became Victor. I think he just admitted to training tributes. Emily must have reached the same conclusion.

"Nick, stop." Her voice is urgent. "Just stop."

The two of them are relatively close. Xanthos mentioned once that Nick was considered to volunteer for the 75th Games. He and Emily would have been coconspirators if nothing else with what little contact could have been made. That does not prevent some animosity now, in light of another career victory.

The sound of Emily's voice snaps Nick back to reality. His eyes widen for a moment. Maybe over surprise in what he admitted to. He expression switches back to anger, trying to pretend nothing happened, and he storms away.

Adam gets up from his chair and stares after Nick. He then turns to us. "I’ll look after him."

I think that's the longest sentence I've ever heard him say. Adam shuffles off in the direction of the lobby, his gait tilted from the toes he's missing on his left foot.

The center is quieter now. There are no more low whispers or shouts or cries. The arena is over, though the games still continue in the formalities and life afterwards.

The consoles hum and there's the sound of dripping liquid. Nick's coffee.

Emily catches my attention. "You can go wait for her in recovery. They don't like it when you wait on the roof, you're apparently in the way there."

"You waited on the roof?"

Emily cuffs me lightly. "That blow you took to the head scared me. I wanted to make sure we weren't getting a vegetable back as a Victor. I sometime still wonder if that's the case."

I respond with a punch to the shoulder. We walk out to the lobby. I walk to the elevator alone. Stepping inside, anxiety coils in my gut.

We joke now about the pommel strike to my head. And I'm sure in the future we'll joke about some of Lynn's wounds, but right now they are very real and very concerning.

The elevator encloses me and whisks me downwards. I can smell damp stone and can hear the distant screeching of the blood thirsty bat mutts. The elevator doors open and I step into the reception room where the official team reunion will take place. Somewhere on the other end of the building is the larger medical elevator that can fit the stretcher and its fleet of doctors and nurses.

Even walking down the more open hallway, the scent of damp stone lingers in the air. Tweed put something on his knives, rubbed them with the same toxins he used to kill Cassius and Silk. I don't know if that method of delivery would work. Some toxins only work if ingested or if injected, but some are potent enough that a scratch could deliver a lethal dose.

I stop outside of the main surgical suite. Despite wanting to see Lynn as soon as I can, I don't want to block the doctors' way if they need to wheel her in immediately.

There is a sudden burst of activity. The doors to the main surgical suite are flung open. A few nurses are carrying IV bags and equipment from supply rooms. A voice is barking orders, "Get more anti-lox, three bags ready. Prep the ventilator."

What little I do know about medicine tells me Lynn is in trouble. Anti-venom of some kind, which I figured she'd need. The ventilator means she is having trouble breathing. Spreading paralysis, maybe, like the toxin that killed Silk?

The silver haired man that steps out of the surgical suite is one I recognize. He turns and spots me, still barking orders to the nurses.

Dr. Roosevelt gives me a nod and greets me, "Seymour. Skull fracture."

That is how he remembers Victors, by what injuries he treated on them.

His lips are pursed and he turns away to call for a nurse to get a tracheal kit, whatever that is. He gets a constant feed of Lynn's condition through an earpiece and can get things setup accordingly.

He turns back to me and states, "She's receiving a transfusion and the initial dosage of anti-venoms. The acid burns will require grafts. Infection was kept minimal, you chose well with sponsor gifts."

Something must have come over the earpiece because Dr. Roosevelt's eyes widen for a split second.

"You will do no such thing." He's shouting more than barking orders this time. "That is not your call to make Tiber."

Dr. Roosevelt disappears back into the surgical suite. He is still shouting. "That will wait for another assessment. Get the feed focused on it."

I am left wondering what could be going on. Something is wrong. I don't have much of a clue as to what. All I can do is stand here and wait to see what happens.

Lynn won't die. They've never lost a Victor and she won't be the first. The question is just what shape she'll be in.

Apollo guide these doctor's hands.


	23. Chapter 23

**Lynn Rayna**  
**District 4**  
**Victor of the 87th Hunger Games**

Beep.

Huh?

Beep.

I can feel a cool metal table beneath me and there's a light blanket draped over me. My face hurts.

Someone is shouting. Luke is shouting. Why is Luke shouting?

Beeping gets faster. What's going on? I don't get it. Faster, faster beeping in time with my heart. My arm gets cold then I'm all cold and it's dark again.

* * *

Beep.

Not a table this time. My back is against a bed. Not a comfortable bed, a stiff cot.

I open my eyes but the left side of my face is covered in bandages so I can't see out of that eye. There is not much to see in the room anyways. The room is white. The only bits of color are the light blue sheet that is draped over me and the softly beeping machine beside be with its silver casing and flashing array of green and yellow lights.

There are needles in my arms, connected to the machine by liquid filled tubes. There are wires too, stuck onto me with circular stickers. A wide strap around my waist secures me to the table. The impulse to bolt rises in my chest. The machine starts beeping faster. There's a rush of cool liquid through one of the tubes and my head gets fuzzy.

* * *

The smell of toast greets me when I wake again. I'm still strapped to the bed and the machine still beeps beside me. There are fewer needles in me, confined only to my right arm now.

A brown haired Avox girl carries a tray. She seems familiar and I think she was the one that delivered the training clothes to my room in the center. She sets it across my legs and pushes something on the bed that raises me into a sitting position. She adjusts the pillows that cradle my head. When she looks at me, there's a strange look that crosses her face. I think it might be pity. There's got to be something horribly wrong if an Avox pities me.

She places a spoon in my left hand. But I'm right handed. I look over at my right hand, resting above the sheets, and it is a mass of bandages.

Left hand it is.

The Avox leaves as silently as she came. I look down at the food. A piece of toast, a small bowl of oatmeal, and a glass of apple juice. I'm glad it's not orange juice. I don't think I'll ever be able to smell orange juice again, let alone drink it.

Eating the oatmeal is a bit of a challenge. I'm not even remotely ambidextrous but I might have learn how to be. The toast is easier to eat.

I'm starving but it is like my stomach shrunk. There is always a delay between the end of the games and the victory interview. Mine might wind up being one of the longer ones.

When I'm done eating, nothing occupies my mind anymore. The Capitol can fix anything, erase any scar. Or maybe not. Some Victors are missing limbs after all. Xanthos lost his leg. 

I run my hand over my face. A puckered line mars my right cheek, running around two inches from the center of my cheek to the corner of my lips. I keep searching. The left side of my face is heavily bandaged. I can feel part of a scar on my forehead. That one is light though, it will fade after a good tan or two. My right hand, well, it's still covered in bandages, which is a really bad sign.

Well, I don't have sponsors I need to be pretty for anymore. Being scarred might be a good thing.

Luke told us what happens. What he goes through. What quite a few of the other Victors go through. We even got to see one of Finnick's videos, the blackmail that got unleashed on the Capitol in the days following President Snow's death.

We know all the risks of becoming Victor.

Once we are narrowed down to the ones competing in the mock arena and facing each other in the final bouts, we are given full details on what being a Victor can entail. It is one of the last chances to back out. I always pushed that to the back of my mind. I never thought I'd live to face the consequences of victory.

What if it isn't enough? What if the scars don't drive them away? The President will sell me. Oh, Gods.

The machine beeps faster and there's a cold rush and I'm forced back into unconsciousness.

* * *

When I am woken again, the Avox brings what I guess is lunch. She puts the spoon in my left hand again and leaves. I eat the apple sauce and cheese sandwich and drink the glass of milk given to me.

The bandages have been removed from my right hand. There are a few long lines and deeper gouges. I wind up tracing and retracing my scars and bandages until I am put to sleep again.

* * *

This repeats with dinner. Mashed potatoes, a thin slice of turkey, and another glass of milk. The scars remain on my hand. They have not removed them. I prod at my once injured side and find the skin numb. I can't move enough to uncover the scar to see how bad it is.

The worse thing is how clumsy my right hand has become. I can't even form a fist. My fingers refuse to curl tightly. What tendons and nerves got cut by Tweed's blade? The poison would have made things worse. It caused twitching, which meant it was a neurotoxin of some kind. Like violet octopus venom.

There are still bandages on my face which is the worst sign of all. They don't have my cheek covered but my eye still is. How could a couple shallow cuts be worse than my cheek being sliced open? Why have they kept my half blind?

The machine starts beeping faster, sensing my panic, and the cool rush of sedatives forces me back into the calm dark once again.

* * *

A voice wakes me. Male, calm, unfamiliar. "Good morning, Miss Rayna."

I open my eyes. There's still the bandages in the way, so I can still only see out of my right eye. A man sits on a chair next to my bed. He's a doctor or a nurse, I can't tell the difference.

His hair is shaved like Cecelia's, with only a thin strip running down the center, though his hair is black and flat against his head, not bright pink and spiked up.

"I'm Dr. Tiber. I'd like to discuss your recovery, if you don't mind."

Is this normal? I don't know if this is normal.

My voice is like sand when I speak. "Sure."

Dr. Tiber presses the button that brings my bed into a sitting position. He hands me a small glass of water and does not say anything. I drink the water and hand the glass back to him.

I thank him, my voice a little better.

Dr. Tiber's voice remains in the same controlled calm tone that woke me. "Unfortunately, there have been some complications due to the multiple toxins that were introduced to your system."

Translation, things got messed up because Tweed poisoned the knives. Not that surprising. My hand is screwed up. I already figured something toxin related happened.

He continues. "Due to the amounts of subcutaneous damage, there will be some scarring and nerve damage, particularly to your right hand. With proper therapy, you may be able to regain full mobility. The scars can be removed at a later date, before the Victory Tour, so you do not need to be concerned there."

He acts like I'm going to be more upset about having a couple of scars rather than having nerve damage. He rests a hand on my knee in what is supposed to be a comforting gesture. It makes me for frightened than anything because his comfort means there is something more for me to be upset about.

"We were unable to save your left eye. You have been fitted with the basics required for a prosthetic to be put in place."

What? How could they not save it when it wasn't even damaged? I voice the confusion racing around my mind, "But he didn't hit my eye. How could my eye be damaged when he never hit it? The closest blow only skimmed across the bridge of my nose."

The machine I'm still attached to beeps more rapidly. I'm worried it is going to put me to sleep again but it doesn't. Maybe that has something to do with Dr. Tiber being here.

He squeezes my knee. I want to punch him in the face. I'm not some little kid, frightened by the prospect of getting my blood taken at Reaping check in.

"Please calm down, Miss Rayna. I can explain what happened." Condescending asshole. "There was a small cut under your left eye in addition to the one across the bridge of your nose. That cut introduced a loxoscelism type venom to your system. The primary effect of this venom is necrosis, meaning the flesh around the site began to die."

My heart rate remains high. I still want to punch Dr. Tiber, but what he's saying kind of makes sense when I get past the doctor talk. I figured that the cuts on my hand had been poisoned. The other cuts being poisoned as well make sense. Tweed was probably counting on those poisons to act a lot faster than they did.

I ask, "So, because of that cut, my eye started to die?"

"The eye itself did not have any necrosis. Damage was done to the optic motor muscles and swelling of the site damaged the optic nerves." Dr. Tiber sounds a bit nervous. He elaborates, "A slight delay in administration of the loxoscelism anti-venom is what caused most of that damage. The anti-venom itself is rather toxic and the amount of venom that had been introduced to your system was not initially known."

He admitted to a mistake. A Capitol citizen, an important one, admitted to a mistake. I can't tell if the delay was done by him alone or under his orders or what. The blame is being placed on him, that much is clear. It is his fault I lost my eye after the conclusion of the games. Tweed did not cut out my eye, which would have been acceptable. A surgeon took it. I have the feeling Dr. Tiber may have a future that involves his tongue being cut out.

Dr. Tiber gives me a weak smile. "We will be installing the prosthetic eye this afternoon."

There is a rush of cold through the tubes. Dr. Tiber is led out of the room by a Peacekeeper. My bed is lowered back down to the lying position and I drift off.

* * *

The bandages are off my face. I can't feel them there anymore. I open my eyes. It's too bright. I close them again.

Slowly, I open my right eye and let it adjust to the light. Then, I open my left. Things are blurry and everything seems too green. But somehow, they restored some of my vision. I close my right eye to make sure. Blurry and green, but vision. Well, Capitol technology is advanced. They have prosthetic hands that can move and prosthetic eyes that can see, evidently.

A tray is set on my lap and the Avox girl raises my bed to a sitting position. I feel myself blush because she must have seen that. I don't why it feels so embarrassing. Maybe because I'm vulnerable like this. Half blind, then not, and not really knowing what is going on.

The fork is still placed in my left hand. Before the Avox goes, I have to ask, "Is it bad?"

She looks directly at me for the first time. She shakes her head and gives me a thumbs up. I know I'm not supposed to address Avoxes without it being a direct order or simple question, but I still tell her, "Thank you."

* * *

Something tells me I should be afraid. What part of my mind is not full of drugs is still firmly in the arena and there is a predator nearby. There's no tributes left so it has to be a mutt.

I open my eyes and find my bed has already been brought into a sitting position.

This time I recognize the man sitting at my bedside. President Ferrum is reading a book and sipping at a glass of something dark. He does not look up from his book or drink but still says, "Hello, Miss Rayna."

His presence is not a strange, unexpected thing like the presence of Dr. Tiber. Luke warned me, when I was chosen to volunteer, that if I were to emerge as Victor and get a visit from President Ferrum, it would be during my recovery. Midas’ mentor, Dawn, warned him about it. President Ferrum does it to scare us, to catch us off guard, and to catch us without a mentor to protect or guide us.

I pull myself out of the drug haze enough to reply, "Hello, President Ferrum. It is an honor."

He sets down his book and smiles at me. It is what I would normally consider a kind smile, but on his face it looks wrong. The President of Panem has no business smiling kindly at anyone. "You know, this is what I enjoy about working with Victors from the Career Districts. You always know your place, right from the start. You are taught about the slight misnomer in the term Victor. But Survivor does not sound nearly as elegant, does it?" He keeps smiling and it keeps being creepy. "Now, you'll need to be more awake to remember all of this."

He reaches over and presses a button on the machine. There are corresponding beeps and I feel the rush of liquid entering me through the tubes in my arm. The fog lifts and leaves behind pain and confusion. I dig the fingernails of my left hand into my palms because my right hand does not respond to my mind's commands to do the same. President Ferrum watches me tense and squirm in pain. He still smiles at me. I come to the conclusion he and Eris would have gotten along very well.

I come to terms with the pain in my face and the twitching unresponsiveness of my right hand. My palm bleeds and gives me a better kind of pain to ground myself with. I can control this pain and it gives me focus. President Ferrum settles into his seat and says, "Now, I can guarantee your family is safe. Kit and Dorian will never be reaped. The storm radars will be functioning perfectly every time your parents' boat goes out. They'll even be functioning perfectly when the Zabats' boat goes out."

Oh, he's threatening Jessie's family, too. That is something I did not expect. Not Min's family, though. Threats to the Marlin family are reserved for Luke, no doubt.

He continues on. "All I need is your cooperation. It all comes down to good business."

I expected something more along the lines of the cool strength of President Ferrum's public person. But this is not in public. This is not quite the President of Panem. This is a man who corners Victors in their hospital beds so he can rattle off the names of everyone they love.

I do not trust myself to speak but have to speak anyways. "I understand, sir." Then the question I already know the answer to, because Luke and the ghost of Finnick Odair warned me about it. "What does my cooperation entail?"

There is no more smile on President Ferrum's face. He is all business now. Funny, where he draws the line. The Capitol gets like that a lot. They love violence and pain, physical and emotional alike, and they love sex. But they just don't admit to the latter so much while reveling in the former.

"You will receive a time, place, and name. Black envelopes, very discrete, and only when you are in the Capitol." The smile returns. "I'm sure your mentor can fill you in on the details. I understand there's a code that some of the Victors have developed. I'm sure you'll familiarize yourself with it."

So he's only neutral about the envelopes themselves, what they entail. But he enjoys the pain they bring.

I straighten, even if it hurts. The skin on my side is taught from where the acid had burned me. "I understand, sir. Is there anything else we need to discuss?"

He leans over and presses another button on the machine. He tucks his book under his arm, I can't catch the title, and says, "Nothing at all, Miss Rayna. I'm pleased the odds were in your favor."

He leaves and the pain fades as the drugs are pumped back into my system. I drift in the cool haze. I consider President Ferrum's behavior. I do not think he will last much longer. He will revel in the wrong person's pain. He will push the limits of someone with too many connections and too much anger. He will be killed and someone else will take title of President.

* * *

Breakfast is served by the same brown haired Avox girl and I'm glad because that means I did not get her into any trouble.

* * *

The next time I wake, the Avox bears clothes instead of food. She sets them at the foot of the bed, undoes the belt across my waist, and waits there. I stare at the clothes, the pants and the jacket and the shirt and the boots. My breakfast threatens to come back up. It is the outfit I wore in the arena, minus all of the damage and the bloodstains.

In and out. Just breathe. Clothing cannot hurt me. Every Victor before me has done this. I can do it to.

I stand up and the Avox steps back to give me room. I wonder why she is still here.

When I struggle to pull on my underwear and bra, I understand. The fingers of my right hand have remained stiff and fumbling.

The Avox girl has to help me button up my pants and put on my jacket because it turns out my whole right arm goes stiff when I raise it to shoulder level. It might be from the knife blow or from the poison or both even.

Fully dressed, I bounce on my feet, glad to be able to move again. The door set into the wall slides open. The Avox smiles at me. I smile back at her. I do not know her name and it is doubtful I will ever see her again. But I like her.

I know this will be broadcast so I set my shoulders and walk calmly out the door with my head held high. I become acutely aware of the scar on my cheek. It makes the right corner of my mouth pull up so it must look like I'm constantly smirking. As far as my eye goes, I have no idea what it looks like. Given Capitol standards, the only answer I can be certain of is not hideous since they did some work, but certainly not desirable. They want killers to turn soft the second they leave the arena. They hate to be reminded that it doesn't work that way.

At the end of the hall is a large chamber where my team waits for me. Luke is trying to look serious but there's a smile twitching at the corner of his lips. Agrippa is just grinning.

I resist the urge to run to them. I'm supposed to be mature and stuff. I am a Victor. Once I step through the doorway I stop bothering and run the last couple of steps to Luke.

He wraps me in a tight hug and whispers, "You did it. You've survived."

I survived the games. This has not been some delusion of my dying mind. I survived. I am not whole, not by a long shot, but I am alive.

Luke releases me and right after I get wrapped up in a hug from Irene. She manages to be at once teary eyed and beaming at me. I realize I'm her first Victor. She took over as escort the year of the 79th Games.

Agrippa hugs me and whispers, "You did it."

With the reunion played out for the cameras, Luke guides me away, Agrippa and Irene close behind us. We all pile into the elevator that takes us up to the lobby. The confines of the elevator are at once comforting and claustrophobic.

We exit and cross the shadowy lobby. The part of my mind that is still in the arena senses predators. I tense when I see the guards standing at their posts. Luke squeezes my shoulder and whispers, "I've got you."

We cross to the tribute elevators. All I can think of is the ride after the interview, with Dove and Oak. I killed both of them.

The elevator doors open onto the fourth floor and I am immediately swarmed by my prep team. It didn't seem possible, but their accents get thicker in their excitement and they're all talking so fast I can't make out anything they say.

I'm ushered into the dining room where Emily and Claudia are waiting. Emily wraps me in a hug. Claudia is the only one that does not hug me, though she still beams at me. There is something a little strained to it. I wonder how bad my scars really are.


	24. Chapter 24

**Lynn Rayna**   
**District 4**   
**Victor of the 87th Hunger Games**

Dinner is a simple affair, by Capitol standards at least. There's roast chicken with mashed potatoes and warm rolls. I can't have a second serving because my diet is still being monitored carefully.

Emily recounts the story of how Luke ignored that fact and decided to sneak an extra serving of green beans. Those green beans nearly made a reappearance during his recap.

After dinner, and teasing Luke, is done, I am whisked off to be prepped for my own recap. Agrippa goes off to get my dress while the prep team gets everything else set up. They insist on a shower. I'm already clean, even my nails had been trimmed during my stay in the medical ward, but I'm not opposed to the warmth.

Metella takes care of the shower setting for me. I approve of her selection of strawberry scented bubbles.

Relaxing in the shower makes me realize just how tense I actually was. My right arm feels better. Still stiff, but my fingers move a bit more freely. There are the scars on my face and my right hand. I can also see my left side, where the plant ate away a huge swathe of skin that got repeatedly re-damaged. It has a kind of melted look and the skin is pink and shiny. All my other scars are gone, even my shark bite. I liked my shark bite. They took the only scar I liked and left behind all the ruin. Nerve damage in my hand and side and my face. A missing eye.

After my shower, the whirlwind of beauty base zero descends upon me. A lot of concealer is used to cover up the scars that mark my face. Special attention is paid to the one on my cheek. It can't be covered up completely. Metella uses a few different shades of makeup to make the permanent smirk lessen. I ask her how she does it. She shows me the cream that smooths out the scar and the different powders that go over that. She layers different shades to create new shadows on my face to return me to a more neutral expression.

Asking Metella about the makeup creates a chain reaction. Cecelia starts giving me advice on the best kind of hair products to use to prevent salt damage and help moisturize my dry hair. Apparently that's a thing. She goes on and on about what brands are worth the extra money and which ones are "absolute scams."

Ambilus shows me how to paint nails, though I'm terrible at it between being right handed and not having a cooperating right hand. He still proudly wears the little flower made of white dots I managed to paint on his thumbnail.

I like my prep team. They only appear to be stupid. Each of them is brilliant at what they do and I understand how they got hired for their positions. That does not mean they're clever when it comes to other things, but that's just seems to be a thing with Capitol citizens in general.

As they continue to work away on me, they chatter amongst themselves. It turns out that Ambilus was still in bed when the Jabber Jays were unleashed and it was only a call from Cecelia that woke him up when it came down to the final two. The only reason Cecelia had been awake at the time is because she had never gone to sleep. Instead she was partying at some club.

My hair has grown just long enough to have a bit of a wave in it again. Cecelia makes two braids, one on each side of my face, woven with a dark purple ribbon. The braids are then pinned back, forming a kind of headband out of my own hair that keeps it out of my face. 

Agrippa returns, carrying my interview dress. All I can make out are the colors. Dark purples and deep ocean blues. I have a sneaking suspicion as to what this dress is inspired by.

I stand and catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I'm tiny. Not like I was before, when it was funny because all my friends could pick me up and carry me around for an hour if dared to but I had the strength in me send them sprawling with a well-placed leg sweep. Now, I'm skinny enough that I can count all my ribs. From the distance, there is no telling if there is anything different about my new eye. The telltale scars on the left side of my face are even gone, erased by makeup.

Agrippa slips the dress over my head.

He has captured a storm at sea in fabric. The dark purples of the sky, shot through with pale bolts of lightning, form the bodice. The skirt is full, giving me a waist again, and done in the deep blue of the waves. Every movement reveals hints of pale green and grey that mimic sea foam. The look is completed with a pair of elbow length gloves and high heels that both match the blue of the skirt.

Agrippa looks me up and down, smiling. "One last thing."

He pulls my bracelet out of a vest pocket and secures it around my left wrist. The baubles stand out against the dark blue. There's the tin anchor my father gave me and the pieces of sea glass Dorian loves to collect and give to me. And my pewter owl. One more day and I will be home. Thank you, Athena.

Now that I'm ready, my team goes off to get ready themselves. All of them, as well as Luke and Irene, will be making appearances before me as part of my team. Emily is the one that takes me over to the elevator.

She's dressed up too, though she'll only be in the audience. She wears a steel grey dress that is intentionally uneven, with one long sleeve and the other shoulder bare. It's made out a shimmery fabric. It is a more mature look than mine. 

We cross the lobby again and go to the elevator that apparently leads to far more than just the training area. We arrive on a floor that extends further than it should. Emily must pick up on some of my confusion and explains, "This leads under the stage. I can wait with you here until Luke is ready, if you'd like."

I nod and we walk over to a large metal circle. The circle is the platform that will take me up to the stage. My heart starts racing and I half expect a rush of cold liquid running through my arm to knock me out.

Emily speaks softly, "You'll be fine. Just the recap then the banquet tonight, a little interview tomorrow, then we can all go home."

I have to ask. "How bad is my eye?"

I trust Emily to give me an honest answer. I recognize a look that can only be pity cross her face. All the hard lines soften. "I can tell. The scars are still noticeable close up, but you won't be able to see them on camera. They didn't get the color of your iris quite right, too much blue. They won't say anything about it tonight. I don't know if they'll even mention it tomorrow. They'll just ask how you're doing. Luke has some information about the prosthetic. We can go over it during breakfast."

Neither of us say anything else after that. I just watch the people scrambling around under the stage with us. They hook up wires and carry boxes full of equipment. 

Luke arrives and Emily goes off to take her place in the audience. There are lots of things I want to ask Luke. But I am already on edge and don't really want to know anything serious right now, so I ask, "Who were you yelling at?"

"The doctor that cost you your eye." He looks down at me and gives me a sad smile. "At first they did not want to tell me why you left the arena with both eyes and returned to the center with only one. How are you feeling?"

"Tired."

I can't think of any better way to really put it. Luke nods and I'm certain he understands what I mean. There's this bone and soul deep exhaustion. Nothing is keeping me moving forwards anymore. I've survived and there is no goal ahead of me other than continuing to exist. Home. Home can be the goal for now.

Luke opens his arms and says, "Oh, come here."

I give him a hug. He leans over and whispers in my ear, "Most of your biggest sponsors were the gamblers, so you're safe from those ones."

I whisper back, "Thanks." Because it is good information to know, even if I do not want to dwell on it. Dwelling on it makes my heart race and fills my veins with phantom cold. Because he said most, not all.

Luke straightens. I reach up and flick a piece of glitter off his forehead. It doesn't help much because it's in his hair. I can't help but snicker at him. The silver sparkles look ridiculous stuck in his dark brown hair. He rolls his eyes at me. "You got lucky with Agrippa."

I did. I grin to let him know this.

Luke is guided away to stand on his own plate. One of the workers instructs me to step onto mine. Standing on the metal plate, I half expect a glass tube to slide over me and find another arena waiting above.

The first round of cheers is for my prep team. The next is for Irene, whose presence in District 4 is wholly ceremonial as the Reaping does not matter because we will have many more volunteers to come. Then there is the thunderous applause for Agrippa. Wild cheers break out for Luke.

My plate rises up.

I am blinded by the lights and deafened by the roar of the crowd. I just make sure to smile and wave as Gaius Flickerman comes into view. I shake his hand and he complements me on the dress and asks how much ice cream I've had. I laugh, not expecting the reference to the interview and reply, "I haven't gotten the chance to eat any. Hopefully there will be some at the banquet."

This makes the crowd laugh. Gaius leads me over to the Victor's chair. I step onto the platform and take my seat. I rest my arms on the dark wood and lean back against the red velvet cushions. The chair feels too big, like it will swallow me.

Gaius makes a few more jokes, a few of them about how they need to make sure there's ice cream at the banquet tonight, then the recap begins.

Right from the start, they tell a tale of rivals.

The Reaping focuses on two volunteers. Me, and Tweed. I still do not know why he volunteered. I do not know if he had family or friends or anyone at all. Did he have a girlfriend back home? A boyfriend? Where did he live, what did he do, did he have a pet? I just have no clue and I don't think I'll learn that unless I manage to find reruns that include the interviews with any family or friends he might have had.

Same with the chariots. The cameras caught a glare I had sent his way. I chuckle a bit and the reaction camera catches it.

At the interviews, I looked divine. I was a goddess of pearls with a sly smile and, by Capitol standards, a sharp wit. The career with a plan. Then sullen Tweed says that the odds are in his favor.

A sweeping overhead shot of the Cornucopia signals the start of the footage from the actual games. It is like watching someone else going through the motions, even if I remember the feeling of Jay grabbing onto the back of my jacket.

Jay is the first to fall.

The girls from 3 and 10 and the boy from 9 are the next to die. Quick shots before the focus switches to Dove.

Something gets stuck in my throat. My face is blank when the reaction camera feed appears in the corner of the screen. I find myself blinking a lot to hold back the tears without making it too horribly obvious. A rivalry and a... whatever I had with Dove. That is the real focus.

She kills the girl from 9. A knife slice to the abdomen. A good kill. Messy, but she did not get injured in the brief scuffle.

They focus on Ajax and I, back to back, facing the pair from District 7.

Then Eris smashes in the skulls two tributes, the latter being the little boy from District 3, who did not even appear to notice what was going on.

The next shot is some time later, as the pack has left and Tweed approached the Cornucopia. I watch as he intentionally triggers the trap to steal all of the rope and then runs off too fast for Cassius to catch him. That's why Cassius didn't admit to what kind of rope it was, it would have tipped me off to him failing at protecting the Cornucopia cache.

They skip forward to that night. The focus is on Dove and me. We pack the bags together, Ajax standing watch. Compared to all the others, we sleep the closest together. Even when they show the camp of the other alliance, Dove and I are the closet.

I do not know what they are trying to imply about the two of us. The fact I do not know what we were does not help anything. We were not merely acquaintances, because that implies a lack of closeness. Friends does not seem to be right either, because we knew each other for a little over two weeks. All I do know is that I wish everyone else had died so it could have been the two of us. We should have stayed together and killed Silk and killed Tweed then refused to kill each other. We could have survived for a while longer, together, until mutts were sent to kill us.

The hunt flies by on screen. I let more than just the polite smile cross my face. I cling to the echo of the manic rush because I felt powerful then and they cannot hurt me with the memories of Dove when I feel powerful. Nothing hurts when it feels like I could eat the world raw.

They show the fire. The chase that took place after. I wince at the memory of the knife sinking into my arm. There is a shot of Tweed who is grinning like a madman because that fire hollowed him out a lair to build his web.

Everything blurs together more after that. I know most of the things that are coming. I look out to the audience for a moment and see anticipation and glee on the faces of the Capitol citizens while all I feel is ill.

Tux dies due to Eris smashing his face in over a jar of burn cream. The clips then go back and forth between my little alliance as we traverse the eastern marsh and Tweed as he slowly takes over the Cornucopia.

They play the scene with the plants in full. I tried to save him. And all I got for my trouble was pain. Now the scar is numb and that somehow feels appropriate. I shrink back in my massive chair, pressing myself into the seat, and I am grateful it is so large. I keep my face blank. I cried enough in the arena. I am not crying now.

I try to not pay much attention after that. It looks like I'm smirking the whole time, of course, because that is just how my resting expression looks now. As far as reaction shots go I'm a bit of a dud but I really don't care. I am not one of the careers that will be hooting and hollering as I relive my days in the arena.

Dove and I hunt down the tributes from 12 and Tweed builds his trap for the careers. That is how it went. I don't know how well the rivals angle is working because other than at the Cornucopia in the beginning and end, we were never around each other. My plan was a quick fire, and his was a slow wait.

They only gloss over the moment when I plunge my sword into Mary's neck. They play the moment I cut Jet's head off in slow motion. My stomach churns. There was a snarl on my face that I do not remember being there. I'm bloodstained and brutal in that moment. They don't show that I vomited after. I did not expect them to, but at the same time it is just so fake. That makes me feel sicker and I have to take a deep breath, which is difficult given the suddenly too tight bodice of my dress. My heart is racing.

I am not going to panic.

No crying, no panicking. I think I can manage that. The consequences of failing, a whole range of horrible things revolving around everyone I care about dying, are enough to keep my eyes dry and the will to remain seated instead of fleeing.

They linger on those days at the river. I find myself smiling and fondly shaking my head a bit when they show me trying to teach Dove how to fish. She was just so bad at it. They catch that reaction and I think I can hear parts of the crowd making aww sounds.

Flax is the one that killed Eris. It took three darts to take her down. The smirk on my face is real this time.

Then they arrive at the day of the feast and my blood runs cold and I wish it would knock me out.

They have the time left to play out the whole scene with Dove. The vision in my right eye goes blurry as it wells with tears. My left eye remains clear. I don't know if I even have a tear duct there anymore. With the tears in my eye and the focus on blinking them away, I barely see the moment when I slit her throat, though I distinctly remember the metallic scent of her blood and the warmth that quickly dissipated into the cool air.

I still do not have an answer to the question why. There is only one Victor. The 74th Games were an anomaly and one with very dangerous consequences. Refusing to kill her would have only brought my ruin. Not killing her when I did would have allowed a dangerous opponent to survive longer. I killed her to survive but it still feels like a poor justification.

I don't really pay attention after that. I give a triumphant little smile when they play my trick of slowing down so Silk is the one to be targeted by Tweed. I grin when I win the fight with Tweed.

With the recap finally over, the anthem begins. We all stand as President Ferrum takes the stage and I step down from the platform. He's followed by a little girl carrying a cushion. She looks about twelve and has dark hair like Mary did. For a brief second I image her dress soaked in scarlet but then President Ferrum takes the golden crown from the cushion.

I hold my head high. Even with the heels on, I'm still a few inches shorter than him. He is smiling when he sets the crown upon my brown. I did not notice before but his eyes are black. Not just dark brown, but black. They suit him.


	25. Chapter 25

**Luke Seymour**   
**District 4**   
**Victor of the 77th Hunger Games, Mentor of Lynn Rayna**

I fear that Lynn is about to break. The only good thing is that she's afraid of it too. That fear is the only thing keeping her together. Things should settle when we're back home and I can get her into the right combination of sedatives and mood stabilizers. It will give her time to process things. She can work on fixing things when she's not afraid of shattering. But in the meantime, she's particularly fragile.

The banquet is a whirlwind of introductions and flashing cameras as everyone wants a picture with the newest Victor. Lynn, for her part, does well. She smiles and nods at the Capitol elite. She laughs at their jokes and graciously accepts their compliments. She even manages to get a few bites to eat because there are little cubes of ice cream being served on toothpicks. Brought because of the comments at the beginning of the recap.

As always, the top ten sponsors are present. The top two spots are taken by Cassie and a man called Vincent Flourish, who she introduces as the owner of the Jabber Jay and a personal friend. I try to keep Lynn safely near them. She remembers Cassie as the woman that wanted the live shark pup and the two of them bond over the event immediately.

Only two names from my list got in. Compared to how full Dawn had her hands full with Midas last year, I've gotten it easy. I had to help run interference for her just so the boy could take a breath that didn't stick of perfume or cologne.

Oren Sonata remains distracted by me for a little while, and when he does see Lynn, he stays away once he realizes that she has scars and there is something more feral than broken in her eyes.

Cassiopeia Prism is not someone I can distract. No amount of charm gets you anywhere when you just don't have the right parts in the first place. Lynn handles herself as well as she can. She is polite but cautious as she can sense the predatory behavior.

The sun is already up by the time we get back to the center. Emily ushers Lynn into her shower to wash off the layers of makeup caking her face. Then I get ushered into the shower to try to get the glitter out of my hair.

What glitter I don't wash out gets sent everywhere by the static dryer. At least it isn't on me anymore. Though, I do feel bad for the Avox that will have to clean this up.

I change into thick black pants and a long sleeved grey top. It is a relief to feel plain. No sheer silks or charmeuse or any of that nonsense, just solid cotton.

I know trying to get sleep will be useless. There is a table laden with breakfast foods in the dining area. Most importantly there's coffee on the table. I pour myself a cup, then one for Emily and one for Lynn.

Lynn shuffles into the room. She's dressed plain and the scars are clear on her face without any makeup on. They'd put some on her for the reunion and then her face got caked in it for the recap and banquet. This is the first time I've been able to see the full depth of the scars. It means they are deep if the full body polish couldn't erase them.

She takes the seat next to me and holds the cup of coffee. She stares into nothingness for a long moment before saying, "I don't know how to live with my family."

The statement is a sad one, and a very true one. She spent as much time as she could with her fellow careers. I had to talk her into spending breaks with them. She needed a support system that did not consist of just a bunch of teenagers and me. Sometimes I'd find out that she snuck back into the warehouse and would sleep up in the rafters. Or she would be over the Marlin's house, bunking with Min. The only time she willingly spent with them was when her labor was needed aboard their boat during peak time. I was never able to figure out why she did it. I asked Jessie and Min, as well as her friends amongst the Otters, none of them knew either, or claimed not to.

I've known Lynn since she was seven and I had just won my games and she ran up to me one day and proclaimed she was going to volunteer like I did. The fact a little girl wanted to be a killer still shocks me. Now she's more grown and she is a killer. 

She's alive. There's no such thing as a complete recovery for a Victor, we're all still screwed up, but she's alive to have the chance of a real life now. That has to count for something.

* * *

**Lynn Rayna**   
**District 4**   
**Victor of the 87th Hunger Games**

No one gets any sleep. We just sit around drinking coffee and eating pancakes. I can only eat one and a half before it becomes too much. The coffee does not sit so heavy, though I am not that fond of the bitter liquid. Sometimes I feel lucid and sometimes I feel dazed. I ask Luke about it and he tells me there's still sedatives in my system. When we're back home, there will be more sedatives and mood stabilizers that I'll take for a few months to help things settle out.

I'm not too keen on that idea but I hate the instability more. When I'm dazed nothing makes sense, and when I'm lucid everything hurts again.

We go over the instructions for my new eye. The booklet contains a lot of terms that only half make sense, like "bio-mechanical" and "cybernetic-organic integration system."

What it comes down to is that there are wires that hook up my nerve endings to the prosthetic eye. For "optimal integration" the prosthetic mimics the cone and rod system of natural eyes and feeds near identical information into my brain. So they didn't just stick a camera in my head, which is kind of comforting. The prosthetic can be taken out for cleaning and basic maintenance. Even better, because I can take it out whenever I actually want to, because I just don't trust the Capitol to not spy on me with my new eye.

The most useless feature of the prosthetic is, by far, the fact it can change color. If I, or someone else, snaps by my face, the iris will change color. A button at the corner of my eye will change is back to default and holding the button will lock any color in place. I am going to keep it locked at all time or else I will have a near endless stream of Capitol citizens snapping at my face.

The interview is at two this afternoon. For my poor prep team, that means getting here at the horrid hour of nine in the morning.

It is clear the Ambilus is not feeling too good but he perks up after he swallows some pills that Cecelia slips him. With how much she takes care of him, like calling him when the final fight was about to take place then then giving him the pills now, I wonder if they're a couple. It is something to ponder as I'm brought to beauty base zero.

The nice thing about Metella is that as she hides my scars, she does not flinch back from them like some of the other Capitols did at the banquet. Some had heard about my new eye, from who I have no idea, and they complimented me on it. Some showed off their own colored contacts and when they took a closer look at my eye, they would notice the scars and many found polite-ish ways to excuse themselves. There was one man in particular that Luke had been trying to keep away from me that backed off the second he noticed my smirk was caused by a scar.

It is good to learn that my scars do ward off some of the worst of them.

The recap outfit continues the theme set by the chariot and initial interview outfits. The final interview is supposed to reflect the Victor more. Or at least the persona the Capitol wants the Victor to have. I trust Agrippa knows me well enough that he can set a tone I can kind of pull off.

My makeup is predatory again, the best part of my interview look not matter how much I liked the pearls. This time it is more natural, but the eyeshadow is silver like my trident and my cheekbones are highlighted to make the thinness look like strength.

Agrippa arrives and lets my sleepy, hungover prep team leave. The dress this time is simple. The color looks like the fine sand that's around the resort, pale to the point of being almost white and flecked with tiny specks of brown and red and orange. There is pale aqua lace at the neckline. An irritatingly low neckline that shows off my collar bones and cleavage far more than I'd like. There is a pair of gloves as well. Aqua and lacy to match the neckline of the dress. The gloves cover up the scars on my right hand and make it easier to demurely fold my hands in my lap to hide the curl of my fingers. The dark brown leather sandals with laces that go up my calves are nice. Then Agrippa pulls out the jacket and I don't mind the dress' neckline anymore. The jacket is a dark brown that matches the sandals. The leather is thick and layers in panels like my body armor.

Putting on the jacket, I feel safe. I know where I stand when I'm in armor again. Wearing armor has no guilt attached to it. I tricked Tweed into killing Silk in armor. Then I killed Tweed in armor, though since my face and hands were not protected that armor is the reason there are scars. The armor was what the arena was supposed to be like. It was when I was clever and strong, not sneaky and cowardly and guilt ridden.

There is still over an hour until the interview so Agrippa and I talk. I ask him about his son, Aemon. Cassie showed me pictures last night. Agrippa has pictures too and the little boy is darling. It is a safe topic and one that Agrippa is more than happy to go on about without too much input from me, which I think he picks up on.

Some producer person comes and gets me. The interview is in the sitting room.

Gaius gives me a hug that I return only a little stiffly. "Lynn, how are you doing?"

"Just fine. A bit tired."

An outright lie and a massive understatement, but I'm about to be interviewed so I might as well start lying now.

Gaius and I sit across from each other on two plush armchairs that must have been brought in when my prep team was getting me ready. There is a low coffee table between us with a couple of glasses and a pitcher of water on it. It's almost normal and that makes it really weird because this is the Capitol.

Producer person counts down and the interview begins.

At first Gaius is friendly and teasing. We banter a bit about ice cream and what the best flavor is. My stance is firmly for chocolate with caramel while Gaius prefers mint.

Then the questions get more probing. What I'm looking forward to when I get home. Seeing the twins and my parents of course. And my friends, tacked on to make it more true.

The topic I've been dreading the most comes up. Gaius leans forward in his chair and asks, "So, Lynn. There has been quite a bit of speculation on the relationship you had with your ally, Dove. Would you care to comment?"

No. I do not care to comment. But I'm not actually allowed to answer with that. I stare at my gloved hands and pick at a bit of lace to give myself a moment to think. I start slow. May as well give them some of what they want. "She was my friend. I knew it was dumb to make friends. Only one person gets the honor of becoming Victor, so making friends meant having to lose them." I take a deep breath because I need one. I clutch at my jacket, my armor, to steady myself. "In the end I just wanted it to be quick."

There is a solemn silence. I hope they cry and ruin their makeup. I hope the tears fall into their fruity drinks and make them taste horrible. I hope that just for a moment that there are some Capitol citizens who feel shitty about the Hunger Games.

The rest of the interview is steering things back to the normal levels of everything being so lovely. Patriotism really isn't my specialty but I'm also not from District 2 so it not expected of me. Still, I make it clear I am grateful for the Capitol's mercy and their generosity. I am proud, honestly proud, that my victory brings honor to District 4. I recount some of my memories of parcel day from when I was seven and Luke had been the new Victor. I look forward to getting to live in the Victor's Village.

Finally, the interview ends. Gaius gives me another hug and I return it without any stiffness. It is as much out of gratitude for not asking about my eye.

After that, I'm given a few minutes to pack anything from my room. I take the Reaping dress, but leave my boots because they remind me of the ones from the arena far too much. I can afford to buy another pair now and Mr. Fen, the cobbler, could use the work.

We're driven to the train station in a car with tinted windows. I quickly say good-bye to Agrippa and that I look forward to seeing the looks for the Victory Tour.

Then I'm on the train and going home.


	26. Chapter 26

**Lynn Rayna**  
**District 4**  
**Victor of the 87th Hunger Games**

Last night was bad. I just started crying and couldn't stop. It shouldn't have been me to survive. It should have been someone with something to return to. I have a broken home and childish crush and nothing ahead of me.

Apparently this is what happens when the sedatives wear off. I slept in fits and starts, nightmares sending me into cycles of screaming and crying again. Luke weathered it all with me.

Now we are less than an hour away from home and I need to put myself together long enough to go through the televised reunion with my family. Metella provided me with some of the concealing creams. I cover up the worst of the scar on my cheek and the one below my eye, which I think is as much surgical as from the knife wound. The others can stay. If they wanted me to look perfect, they'd send my prep team and stylist with me. I wear my hair loose and put on plain clothes, light brown pants and a light blue top. I throw my jacket on over it. I love the thick leather jacket. It would protect me reasonably well from knife blows if I got in a fight.

My breath hitches in my throat. Don't think about fighting. Don't think about it.

When I'm done getting dressed, I head back to the dining car. Luke hands me two small pills and a glass of apple juice. Not orange juice. Orange juice was one of the causes of a panic attack.

I swallow the pills and after a few minutes my head starts to feel fuzzy but I don't think I could panic even if I tried. I slouch against Luke and ask, "How long will I have to take the pills?"

He ruffles my hair. "Only a month or two. Then again during the Tour. I don't know many Victors that made it through the Tour without sedatives, if only at night so they could sleep some. That's what I had to do."

Fuzzy headed for a month. I do not like that prospect. But it beats the screaming. I make a grunt of annoyance anyways. Luke ruffles my hair until I have to bat his hand away. "Make your head feel like it's full of cotton, doesn't it?"

I answer with words this time. "Or feathers."

Through the window, the green of the forest disappears and I can see the sea again. I actually gasp. This is it. I'm nearly there, nearly home again. Luke combs my hair back into place with his fingers and says, "It's always great seeing it again after being gone."

The platform begins to come into view. All I can see is a swarm of cameras but I know my family is somewhere in the crowd. Luke and I make out way over to the main car, where we will be exiting. Emily and Irene are already waiting for us. Irene fusses over my hair and tuts at my clothing choice. Between the fuzzy feeling of the pills and the knowledge I'll be working with Irene for the foreseeable future, I do not interfere with or comment on her fussing.

The train begins to slow and my heart speeds up. The pills fight off the worst of the nerves.

I bid Irene farewell and she hugs me again, a bit weepy, even though we'll be seeing each other again in a few months.

The train comes to a halt and the doors slide open. At first there are just the cameras but the twins dart through the cameramen's legs. I scoop them up, which is difficult because I'm rather certain that they've grown a few inches between them in the month I've been gone and I'm not nearly as strong as I was when I left. The cameramen part and my parents wrap me in a hug.

Luke and Emily guide us away, towards the main square. A few bolder cameramen follow a short distance, only to be turned away by a Luke half-jokingly telling them to save it for the Victory Tour. Irene, still on the train, backs him up by saying something about what's permitted.

Our quick pace slows on the far side of the square, where even the bolder cameramen cannot see us. We go to the east, up the path that will take us to the Victor's Village. The Village sits on the low cliff that overlooks the town to the west and a small cove to the east. I've been to the cove more times than I've been to the Village proper, and even that was uncommon.

Kit and Dorian keep running ahead and looping back. The sudden movements are jarring. I can feel alarm building in the parts of my mind not trapped in the pill fuzz. I am faintly aware that my parents are saying something, possibly to me, but I'm just not paying attention.

It becomes very uncomfortable walking between them. Their presence is not comforting; it does not make me feel safe. I do not know what parts of that are my own fault and what parts are the arena rattling around in my head. My mother might have been in training, but she did not make it to the final bouts. She dropped out at 16, no 15. So she is not a good ally. My farther never trained at all and I doubt he could actually kill someone in self-defense, let alone in cold blood. Also a poor ally.

I am distracted by the gates of the Village opening. I see Jessie and Min standing there. I race towards them and slip through the widening gap of the gates. I throw my arms around them and hold them tight. Then there are other arms and other voices. There's Susan and Petrel and Marin. And there's Hyacinth and Delphinia, too. I'm pretty sure most of the senior members of Otter Polis are here. Yep, even Demetrius is here, not touching anyone. He is smiling at me, which is a lot by his standards.

Hyacinth picks me up and spins me around. I hope he doesn't see my blush. Everyone is hugging me and congratulating me and welcoming me home. I feel safe with them. I know how to live with them.

In the back of my mind, somewhere between a couple patches of pill fuzz, I feel guilty about being happier to see my friends than my family. I also don't care because my friend have always been there for me.

Luke comes over and breaks up the huddle. "You all should get going before Boral comes out and starts yelling at you to get off his lawn."

Marin flashes Luke a grin and points out, "Since we're in front of your house, aren't you the one telling us to get off your lawn?"

We all laugh as Luke mutters something about feeling old.

I pull them in for another hug and say, "I'll meet you at the tidal pools tomorrow."

They depart with waves and shouts that they'll be there. Part of me just wants to run after them. Luke ruffles my hair and I bat his hand away. I have the feeling that's how he's planning on getting my attention for the foreseeable future. "Let's go see your house."

Oh, yeah. I have a house here now. I cannot tell if my short attention span is due to the pills, or if I'm just that easily distracted.

I'm District 4's thirteenth Victor and my house is the newest because of that. The base of the house would have already been constructed and then details would have been added based on Luke's input most likely, since I would have still been unconscious at that point. As long as there's a hammock in my room I'll be happy. The house is set back, forming the beginning of a second semi-circle, between Luke and Annie's houses. Though Annie does not live in her house, she lives in the house she had shared with Finnick.

The house is of the style of the rest of the ones in the village. A large two story affair, plus an attic, and a big wide porch. I head inside.

Everything is pale blues and sage greens and sandy beiges and warm greys. It speaks of wide skies and seafoam and sand. It feels like everything I love about District 4. The kitchen has an actual oven and a stove-top. The living room is filled with overstuffed furniture, which I've found I'm rather fond of. Some rooms are rather empty, waiting to be filled in with whatever I want them to be.

Upstairs are the bedrooms and bathrooms. I have a suite a lot like the one back in the Training Center. There's no hammock, which is disappointing. The bed should still be comfortable since it is piled high with pillows.

I dive on to test the theory out. I burrow into the fluff and it is indeed comfortable. Luke laughs at me and says, "I made sure there would be plenty. Good to know I made the right call."

I consider getting up but am too comfortable to want to move. Getting up also means being around my family, which is a special kind of stressful since I'm just not used to it.

Luke says, "Try and get some sleep if you can. I'll be right next door if you need me."

A bit of fear breaks through the sedatives. I look over at Luke and ask, "Promise?"

He reaches over to me and ruffles my hair, "I'm your mentor, and that means you're stuck with me."

I don't bat his hand away this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tin, here, and I am proud to say I have finally finished Pewter Owl. My writing is far from over and I have a lot more planned for my Rebellion Failed AU.
> 
> I have a Tumblr for the AU over at TokensandPraises, where I'll be posting more information about the characters and world.
> 
> I hope you all have had a happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favor.


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